CHERUB: Knight
by bobdat
Summary: George Knight, a normal nine-year-old living with his mum in a London flat, has his world change forever and ends up on CHERUB campus with a best friend who's always getting him into trouble and two really annoying girls who live down the corridor and love winding him up. And then there's basic training... Website: www . cherubknight .altervista .org / index .html
1. 1: Rain

**1: Rain**

"Make sure you put your waterproof coats on before you leave. Anyone who goes out in just their jumper will be in trouble, and probably catch a cold too," the severe voice of Mrs. Young said from the front of the classroom. "It's very wet so no jumping in puddles either."

George Anderson rolled his eyes. He was nine years old, way too old to go round jumping in puddles. That was for the little kids, but he was in Year Five now. He was even allowed to walk home by himself, unlike many of the kids at his primary school in London whose parents were getting soaked as they waited in the playground.

School was hardly his favourite place, so George grabbed his coat as soon as he was allowed to leave and pulled on his rucksack. He didn't fancy getting his trousers wet because his mum would yell at him, so he tucked the bottom into his uncomfortable black school shoes and set off.

"Hey, George!" a familiar voice said from behind him, a hand tapping his shoulder. George spun around and smiled at his best friend Jake.

"Listen, if you wanna come over this afternoon then my mum will probably say yes. Saves you a soaking," Jake said, scratching the back of his hand as he said it. "You can just text your mum, right?"

"Yeah, okay," George said, grinning. Not only was it the perfect excuse for an afternoon of endless PlayStation and no homework, but if it stopped raining before he got home his trousers would be dry and he wouldn't have to hang them on the radiator like his mum would demand.

The two boys filtered into the stream of kids making their way into the playground, either heading happily for parents and the shelter of their cars or dashing for the pavement, darting through traffic to get to the other side of the road.

"Can we put on Grand Theft Auto?" George asked enthusiastically. It was his favourite game but if his mum found out he played it, there'd be hell to pay.

Jake shrugged. "Maybe if my mum goes out. Otherwise we can't." He pulled his hood up further to shelter his face. "It's still a month until my birthday so I can't get busted doing anything dodgy."

"Hi mum!" Jake yelled as he unlocked the front door of the flat and kicked off his sodden shoes. "George is here."

Jake's mum was always friendly and she stayed at home to look after his little sisters, so there was always lemonade and sandwiches waiting when they got in. She put her head round the door of the kitchen as they clattered in and sat down.  
"Hi George, how's your mum?" she asked, hands full of nappies.

"She's fine," George replied, smiling and doing his best to be polite.

"There's lemonade in the fridge, Jake, so you can pour two glasses. I'll make a couple of sandwiches and bring them to your room as soon as I've finished changing the babies. Get some newspaper to put in your shoes before you go upstairs." Her expression was stern, but Jake was usually well-behaved and looked after his baby sisters, so he rarely got anything more than a raised voice.

"Okay mum," Jake said, pouring lemonade and handing one to George before dashing off to stuff paper into his school shoes. This left George standing awkwardly in the kitchen until he got back and they could go upstairs.

"Do you need to phone your mum?" Jake's mum asked, pointing to the cordless phone on the counter and breaking the silence. "Saves you the cost on your mobile."

"If that's okay?" George asked, moving over to the handset and typing their landline number. If his mum was out he could dial her mobile, but he couldn't remember her number and it was a good excuse for not being hassled about his homework so he didn't want to look it up. The phone rang a few times before it was picked up and George heard his mum's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi mum, it's me. It's pouring down so I've stopped off at Jake's, can I stay for a bit?"

"Hmm, well I suppose you can stay until it stops raining, but come back at five, okay? I'll be making your tea so don't be late," she replied severely.

"Okay mum, I'll be back by five."

It was a ten minute walk from Jake's flat to his, so he needed to leave at 4.50. It was only just gone 3.25, so the boys had well over an hour of PlayStation.

"Don't make a racket, the girls have just fallen asleep," Jake's mum warned them as they climbed the stairs in socked feet.

George's flat didn't have an upstairs so it was always a bit of a thrill to visit Jake's room and think that it wasn't right next to the kitchen. He had a pretty cool room with a large window overlooking the street outside and a TV setup that George would have given anything for.

"What game do you want to put on? Don't bother with GTA because my mum'll be up with sandwiches soon," Jake said, pulling off his wet socks and pointing to the PlayStation.

George opened the case for the latest FIFA game but the disc was missing. He glanced over at Jake.

"It's in the machine."

Jake's TV was huge, so big it had to hang on the wall, and there was a killer speaker set underneath it. The PlayStation was hooked up in HD and when they had FIFA going, it filled the room with green light from the pitch. George expertly flicked through the menus as Jake found a fresh pair of socks and lobbed the old ones into a laundry basket in the corner of his room, then sat on the bed next to George.

"Bagsy home team," Jake said, grabbing the controller and flicking through the Premiership teams until he found Chelsea.

"Chelsea gay boys," George tutted, picking up the spare controller and changing the away team to Queen's Park Rangers.

"You're a gay boy," Jake replied contemptuously as the game loaded. "QPR aren't even four stars."

"The only reason Chelsea are four stars is because they buy all the talent. They're not a real team," George sneered.

Jake shook his head. "Just wait until I kick your butt. QPR suck. Bunch of pu-"

The door handle suddenly moved, cutting Jake off mid-sentence, and his mum stepped in with a couple of cheese sandwiches which the boys took gratefully.

"Better not have been some bad language I interrupted," she said, giving Jake the evil eye. "I'm going out to the shops, so let the answerphone run if anyone calls and don't answer the door," she added, smiling again. "Behave, please, I'll only be ten minutes."

With Jake's mum out of the house, George wanted to put on GTA, but Jake didn't seem too bothered and they carried on with FIFA. George was the worse player; he didn't have a games console at home so he couldn't practice, and Jake played it all the time. Picking the weaker team hadn't helped either, but he wouldn't been seen dead playing as Manchester United or some other big-league team.

"Aha, suck on that!" Jake taunted as he neatly put away a shot from the edge of the box. "You've got no chance."

George didn't want to admit it and just sighed. "That was a blatant free kick for me, the ref just didn't give it. Chelsea is a team of cheats."

"Chelsea don't cheat, retard," Jake said, but the slanging died down as the game resumed.

After they paused at half time to eat their sandwiches, Jake won the first game 3-0, scoring two penalties that George gave away when he was desperately trying to block the superior Chelsea strikers. He didn't fancy getting beaten again, but Jake was full of it.

"I bet I could beat that bunch of pansies with the worst team in the game," he bragged, downing half of his lemonade.

"Bring it on, dogbreath," George replied, reselecting QPR while Jake searched the lower leagues and eventually picked Cheltenham Town, who had less than two stars for their ranking.

This time, George stood a chance. He didn't have the hang of the perfectly weighted shots from the edge of the box that Jake had perfected, but he had a couple of close chances from goalmouth scrambles, and his goalkeeper was keeping out everything that Jake's feeble strikers could manage.

It didn't take long for Jake's experience with the controls to win out. He managed a cutting pass and had a clean run on goal with one of his midfielders. Helpless, George rushed out with his goalie but Jake chipped it perfectly, sending the ball sailing into the back of the net.

"Oh yeah! I told you that QPR suck!" Jake said triumphantly, watching his players celebrate.

George was upset, but he was determined to strike back. From the kick-off he cut between the slow-moving defence, closing down on goal. A quick pass got him inside the penalty area and he let loose a shot, hands clenched on the controller. As the ball left the boot of his striker, Jake paused the game.

"What the hell?" George demanded, throwing his controller onto the bed. "I was about to score, you idiot!"

"There's someone at the door," Jake said, furrowing his brow. "It can't be my mum because she'd have a key."

George realised that in his determination to get one back, he hadn't heard the banging on the door. "So what? Your mum said not to answer the door."

"If they keep banging they'll wake up my sisters," Jake said, dropping his controller and heading out of the door. "I'll be back in a sec."

It was the perfect opportunity to unpause the game and score a couple of cheeky goals while Jake was away, but if he cheated he'd never hear the end of it, so George just sighed and looked out of the window. The clock on Jake's nightstand said 4.10, so he worked out that he had 40 more minutes before he needed to go home. There were voices downstairs and curiosity got the better of him, so he crept onto the stairs, not wanting to look like he was eavesdropping.

"My mum will be back any minute," Jake said, sounding like he was a little bit scared.

"Who's in the house then?" A deeper voice asked in a friendly tone. "You won't get into any trouble, don't worry."

"It's just me, my friend George who's upstairs, and my baby sisters," Jake replied.

George decided that he could probably go down and show his face, and it was better than moping around in Jake's room.

There were two police officers in uniform downstairs, both holding their hats in their arms as they waited in the kitchen. They looked up as George stepped inside, carrying the empty lemonade glasses.

"You must be George?" the woman police officer asked with a kindly smile. She had grey hair and looked like she might be someone's granny, so George just nodded back and put the glasses beside the sink.

"George Anderson?" the man asked, unfolding his beefy arms.

"Yes," George replied. His mum had told him to trust the police and these two seemed to be nice.

"Can we have a word with you in private?" the policeman asked, looking at Jake. "We could use your bedroom if that's okay?"

"Um, I suppose," Jake said, shrugging. "I'll wait for my mum to get in."

The police officers smiled and let George lead the way to Jake's room, where the FIFA game was still paused. The man stood in the doorway while the woman sat next to him on the bed, looking weird in her bulky uniform all crumpled up from sitting on the soft duvet.

"George, we're here because your mum has been in an accident. She was hit by a van just outside your flat. We're going to take you to the hospital," she said gently, a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened?" George asked dumbly, waiting for the news to sink in. "We don't have a car or anything."

"She must have been crossing the road or something. We don't have details yet," the woman replied, looking sad. "We'll find out soon enough."

George went with the police when they led him to their car, still too shocked to think. His heart was beating fast and he felt nervous, and the grave expression on Jake's mum's face didn't help settle him down as he pulled his wet shoes on.


	2. 2: Bleeding

**2: Bleeding**

In any other circumstance George would have loved the feeling of rushing through the London streets in a patrol car with the lights flashing, but he was starting to feel sick so he just stared at his lap and tried not to think about all of the weird thoughts going round and round in his head.

"Are you okay? Do you need us to pull over?" the policeman asked, looking at George in the rearview mirror. "You look very pale."

"I'm okay," George said weakly, hardly looking up.

"We're almost there," the policewoman said, trying to reassure him. "Just a few minutes."

George had only been to a hospital once before, and that was when he broke his arm falling off the swings. That time he'd just had to sit and behave himself in Accident & Emergency for a while until they X-rayed him and put a cast on. This time the police took him straight through the waiting room into another area where a nurse was waiting.

"Hello George, I'm Nurse Winters," she said, giving him a smile full of slightly yellow teeth. "If you come with me we'll go and see your mum."

He didn't say goodbye to the police as he followed the overweight nurse through some corridors and up a flight of narrow stairs before she pushed into a ward.

"Please wash your hands with some of this gel. Just rub it in, it'll disappear in a minute," Nurse Winters said, putting some on her own hands to show how it was done. "Your mum is in a critical condition so you mustn't try and hug her or anything."

George didn't know what to say so he just followed again as they walked through the rows of beds to one hidden behind curtains. It was a stretcher on wheels so it could be moved, and his mum was lying beneath the blankets, her grey-brown hair drawn back behind her pale face.

"Hi George," she said quietly, her eyes crinkling into a smile as she saw her son, her cheeks wet with tears. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

George found tears welling up in his eyes for the first time. Boys who cried at school seemed soft so he tried to sniff them back and blinked a lot, but his mum covered up with blankets and wired up to tubes and a bag of blood was too much. He just nodded in response and sniffed again.

"The nice doctors are going to do an operation on me," she said, her voice shaking as the nurse disappeared behind the curtain. "It'll probably take a few hours, but afterwards I'll be all better, okay?"

"I hope so," George replied, reaching out with his hand. It took a few moments, but his mum pulled her hand out from under the blanket and took hold of a couple of his fingers.

"You be good, okay George? They'll look after you until I can come home." She was crying as she spoke. George hardly ever saw his mum crying like this. She sometimes dabbed away a few tears after a sad bit on one of her soap operas, but the last time she'd cried this much was when his dad had died seven years ago.

"Okay mum," he said, feeling inadequate.

"We'll take you to theatre now. The earlier we get started the better," the nurse said, taking George's other hand. "I'll look after George."

His mum waved a little as they wheeled her out of the ward, and he waved back, tears dropping off his chin onto his school jumper. When she was gone, the Nurse looked down at him.

"Your mum says you don't have any aunts or uncles or grandparents to look after you, so I'll take you to a play area we've got downstairs for a while. I expect someone from the council will find somewhere for you to sleep," she explained as they worked their way through more unfamiliar corridors and doors. "Try not to be too upset, I'm sure your mum is going to be just fine."

Six hours dragged by. George was stuck in a kiddy room which had no natural light and was filled with toys like teddies and giant lego bricks, which he was way too old for. He could have killed time on a PlayStation or X-Box, or maybe even with a TV, but the most grown-up thing he could find were a couple of picture books that looked like they were designed for kids who weren't very confident readers. With nothing to do, he just sniffled and worried about his mum all the time, occasionally nodding dumbly at a nurse when she came by and asked how he was doing. The hospital couldn't spare the staff to have someone play with him, so he just sat on his own with a receptionist outside the door who was constantly on the phone. He'd hoped that someone might come and tell him how his mum was doing but he got nothing, other than a few sympathetic looks, so he just sat with his knees up to his chest feeling miserable until he eventually lay on a giant stuffed gorilla and drifted off to sleep. His dreams were weird and fragmented and he seemed to keep waking up without knowing if he was dreaming or not. Eventually he woke up feeling more tired than when he'd fallen asleep, and he looked at the door, hoping someone would come and rescue him soon and take him to his mum.

"George?" a voice said softly, disturbing him from a doze. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged and sat up, dying to pee. "Can I go to the toilet?"

"Okay. I'll take you," the man said, holding out a hand.

"I can go by myself," George said derisively, getting to his feet and feeling a wave of unhappiness. "I'm nine."

The nurse laughed. "Alright, well it's the first door on your left. Come straight back please."

The toilets were ultra-clean and George relieved himself into the urinal that was set low to the floor before splashing his hands with water and looking at his raw eyes in the mirror. He was a state, but there were none of his mates around so he didn't really care.

"George?"

"I'm coming," he replied, rubbing his hands on his trousers and pulling open the door. It was a different person standing outside; this time it was an older doctor wearing a long white coat.

"I'm Dr. Pearson, George. Could you come with me?"

George shrugged and followed the doctor. He'd got used to following people around by now.

At first he thought they were going back to the kiddy room, but to his relief the doctor walked past and eventually took him into a well-lit room with about ten chairs and a desk in it. George looked around, wondering what the room was for. He sat in one of the chairs, but it was made for an adult and his feet swung as the doctor sat in the opposite chair.

"You can probably just sit on the desk, George," he said, smiling as he gave the nine-year-old a boost. Once he had made himself comfortable on the corner, the doctor sat forward in the chair.

"I'm afraid I've got some sad news. When the car hit your mum, it broke some of her bones and a lot of the stuff inside her got squished up," he explained, looking at George's face to see if he seemed squeamish. George had played violent computer games and wasn't too fazed, but he felt odd thinking about it happening to his mum.

"Because it was all squashed, some parts of her were bleeding. I had to do an operation to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't really successful because there was so much damage."

"We all did our best but I'm afraid you say that your mum passed away shortly after the operation," Dr. Pearson said gently, giving George's shoulder a squeeze. "The car just did too much damage to her."

George didn't know what to think. Part of his brain was telling him that he was never going to hug his mum, or have her tuck him into bed or make him a packed lunch ever again, but the other part was telling him that it couldn't possibly be true because his mum was always there, just like usual, and she'd be coming through the doors in a minute to take him home.

"Is there anything you'd like? Some water?" the doctor asked. "I know this is a big shock."

George shook his head. "I'm okay," he croaked, his throat suddenly tight. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

The doctor jumped up and grabbed a bucket that George had assumed was a waste paper basket. He pulled out a sick bag and handed it to George just before he began throwing up, the acid burning his throat. The doctor rubbed his back and held the bucket up in case of any near-misses.

"I've got some water here when you need it," he said, waving a bottle of mineral water. "Just take deep breaths and lean forward."

Being sick had left George light-headed, and he took deep breaths to try and calm down, but every time he thought about his mum his heart went back to thumping hard and he felt sick all over again. There was nothing to bring up and he just retched into the bag. The doctor gave him the water bottle when he was finished and he swilled out his mouth and spat it into the bag before drinking some to soothe his throat.

"If you've got no relatives to look after you, we'll take you to a children's home somewhere nearby and you can get sorted out soon," the doctor explained, patting George's back. "I'm sorry it had to work out this way."

George felt a little bit better and the doctor took him to the kiddy room to wait for a nurse to sort out his paperwork and find somewhere to go, but being shut in the room again brought back the light-headedness and he felt like he was going to pass out. He dug his fingers into the gorilla and took short breaths, panicking and feeling his heart skip every time his vision drifted or he thought about his mum. After a few seconds the nurse took hold of him and tried to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work and everything just made it worse. Eventually the doctor came and held him still for a moment, then relaxed. George wanted to scream and cry but he was losing energy, and his eyes felt weird. He leant forwards onto the nurse and tried to lift his head up, but the sedative was taking hold and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his thoughts just before he drifted off, his arms still wrapped around the nurse.


	3. 3: Shock

**3: Shock**

When George woke up, the first thing he noticed was the thumping headache, followed closely by his raw throat. It seemed to be a combination of throwing up and feeling dehydrated, on top of whatever they'd injected him with. Just thinking about the injection and his odd breakdown made him embarrassed, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut to block out the memories. Thankfully, more practical matters took over, and he rolled out of bed to search for a toilet.

The room was unfamiliar, but the first door he tried led to an en suite with a grotty toilet. A little repulsed by the black mould growing on every wall, George sighed with relief before shaking off and examining himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. He looked pale and his eyes were tinged with red, but that was pretty reasonable for someone who had spent the night being sick in a hospital. The fact that his mum was dead weighed on his stomach and he felt for a moment like he was going to be sick again, but the nausea passed and he headed back into the room, eyes aching from the headache.

"George?" a voice asked. It belonged to a skinny man with bad acne on his shaved scalp who looked into the room. "Oh, you're up. How're you doing?"

The tone was friendly but George got the impression that the man was only interested in going back to whatever he'd been doing before.

"I'm okay," he replied, shrugging.

"Fancy some breakfast?"

"Not really." His stomach was still playing up and George was sure he wouldn't be able to keep toast down.

It was obvious that the man had expected George to come with him for some breakfast, because he looked like he had run out of things to say.

"I'm supposed to give you a tour after breakfast, if you want."

George wished he knew what time it was, but he'd never worn a watch and there was no clock in the room. "I'll try some orange juice or squash or something."

"I'm Ian, I work here part-time," the man said, sounding awkward as he walked too-close to George through the narrow corridor.

"Where am I?" George asked, rubbing one of his eyes and wishing his throat didn't hurt so much when he spoke.

Ian looked over for a moment with an odd expression, but he seemed to let it go. "This is Scarborough House, it's a children's home."

George had guessed as much. "Do I live here now?"

"I suppose so. You'll have to get a new room and stuff, but you'll settle in okay." Ian didn't seem to be very experienced, but he did know where the kitchen was. He led George through a cramper preparation area and into a mini-cafeteria with brightly coloured plastic chairs and two tables covered with plastic tablecloths. "I'll get you orange juice, since you're new."

Actually, George would have preferred to get his own orange juice so he didn't have to sit like a lemon at the table while he waited. Mercifully there were no other kids around, and the mound of unwashed crockery by the sink suggested they'd missed the breakfast rush.

Ian returned with the juice and set it down on the table in front of George, along with a mug of hot water and a sachet of instant coffee for himself. "So, welcome to Scarborough."

The place was a dump and the slight smile on Ian's face suggested as much, but George was in a new place and out of his depth, so he acted polite. "Thanks. How many kids live here?"

Ian tapped his chin. "I think there are fifteen currently. Do you know how living in care works?"

George had seen two episodes of Tracy Beaker and thought he could make a guess, but he let Ian explain anyway.

"You'll live here at Scarborough and go to school nearby with the other kids. You might get fostered occasionally and go to live with some parents, either for a trial or for a long period to try and give you a bit of normality, and if you're lucky you'll get adopted. I haven't been here long but the lady who runs the place says that adoption is pretty rare once you've finished primary school."

"Do I get my own room?"

"No, you'll have to share eventually, but we've got space at the moment so you could have a week by yourself. If you need to talk to a counsellor, everyone who works here is around for a chat any time." Ian scratched at a pimple on his ear. "Do you want me to show you to your room or give you a grand tour?"

"Tour sounds okay."

They wandered around the housing block for ten minutes while Ian pointed out the finer points of stuff like mealtimes and the school routine. It didn't sound too bad and George was feeling a little better about his future by the time they arrived at a cramped room on the top floor with a view over two identical housing blocks.

"I think they're called Morecambe and Brighton, but I haven't seen any of the kids," Ian explained, pointing to the distant outline of some flat-roofed buildings. "That's the local primary, but the secondary is a tube ride."

"Which bed is mine?" George asked. There were two single beds set against opposite walls, and a black line drawn in marker divided the room in two halfway between them.

"Either."

"What about my clothes and stuff?"

"I'm gonna take you to your old flat and pick your stuff up today. The council will want to clear it out before long," Ian said, sighing and turning to leave the room. "We can go now if you fancy it?"

"Why not?"

The brief trip to the flat didn't take long, and even though Ian told him to bring everything he wanted because the rest would get taken away, there wasn't much beside clothes. Just a few books and toys and valuable stuff like his mum's jewellery and purse. George fitted it all into three carrier bags and Ian seemed a little taken aback at how meagre it was.

"Tell you what," he started, picking up the carrier bags, "Most kids bring three times this much, so if I load these bags into the car and you bag up your mum's clothes and books and that, I'll take it to one of those places that pay you by the kilo."

Ian disappeared out of the door and headed for the stairwell, and George grabbed a few more bags. He felt sad going through his mum's old stuff, and because he was an only child and they lived together he felt really close to her, but when he searched for stuff they'd done together it mostly seemed to be watching TV and bedtime stories. Half of the clothes in her wardrobe he didn't recognise, and while the child in him hoped for a hidden stash of money or birthday presents, he got no luck.

The majority of his mum's existence sold for £12.10 plus a tenner that Ian gave him in return for a couple of dresses that still had their tags.

"My girlfriend's gonna love these," he said, realising a second later that he sounded too happy. "If that's okay, I mean."

George shrugged. "Better that someone uses them. Mum was always on about re-using."

Ian smiled. "How about I take you to McDonald's or something for lunch? Then we'll go back to Scarborough and you can settle in with your stuff."

"Gotta be better than stewing in my room."

Ian chuckled. "You're pretty cool," he said, swinging into a side turning slightly faster than he needed to.

George smiled, but everything seemed to remind him of his mum and he stared out of the window in silence for the rest of the journey, wondering how she'd feel if she was around to see him.

When they got back, Ian set him up with a couple of school jumpers from a cupboard downstairs, and he could just use his old shirts and trousers. He would be starting on Monday, which gave George the usual feeling of glum as he looked at the uncomfortably button-up shirt.

He whiled away the afternoon putting his stuff away in his new room, leaving the other side bare. The walls looked bare so he decided to wait until there was a shopping trip or something and buy posters. His mum didn't like him putting stuff on the walls because it damaged them, but there were hundreds of marks and holes from previous kids sticking stuff up so he didn't think anyone would mind.

It wasn't until the evening when he started to feel lonely again. Dinner had been okay, with a couple of other kids saying hello, but they all had their own conversations and he'd mostly eaten in silence. When he was back in his room, under a worn duvet with nothing but him and his thoughts, he'd been unable to keep his mind from drifting back to his mum and the more he thought, the darker he felt until one of the house staff had heard him sobbing.

The weekend was impossibly tough. All of the other kids lounged around the house, bickering and sharing homework, but he had none of that. Being in his room made him sad and led to a couple of other staff having to calm him down, but there was a vicious-looking older girl who hogged the TV and he found himself constantly watching boring American dramas if he stayed downstairs. The tatty pool table looked fun, but nobody wanted to play with the new kid and the grass was damp so the little football net remained unused. After enduring an entire Saturday of boredom and a Sunday that looked as if it was going to go the same way, George decided he was better off trying to get his head into a book in his room than listening to two tween girls fighting over a magazine. He climbed out of one of the dining chairs and headed upstairs, hoping to get an early night ready for his first day of a new school, but as he closed the door a beefy arm slid through and held it.

"Yo, you're the crybaby new kid?" a teenager asked, shoving the door open and stepping inside, glancing at the vacant bed.

George backed up, heading for his bed while another younger kid stepped into the room, looking a couple of years older than George.

"Yeah, it's him," the other kid said, his voice breaking so the final syllable came out in a weird rumble followed by a cough.

"We're not gonna hurt you," the teenager asked, cracking a grin as he took a seat on George's bed and bounced slightly. "Just got a couple of questions. I'm Josh, this is Javid."

It didn't take a genius to work out that with one guy guarding the door, partly against escape and partly in case anyone came upstairs, the lads in George's room weren't there to welcome him nicely.

"I'm sorry, I just get upset about my mum sometimes," George said, moving as far from the teenager as he could. "I'm trying to stop."

This got a chuckle both both of the others.

"It's not that we're here for, you can cry your eyes out every night for all we care," Josh said, jerking his thumb at the door. "We're the other end of the corridor."

"Then what is it?"

"You're new here, so you don't know how it works. You see those buildings out there?" he asked, pointing vaguely at the curtains. "The kids over there hate everyone in this block, always have. You go to school, you're gonna get decked by some nutter after revenge. We're the only guys who can help."

George was scared. He'd been in a couple of scraps before, but it wasn't much more than a trip on the playground or a smack with a ball. The two dudes in his room were big enough to beat him silly, and if he got beaten up on the street on the way to school he wouldn't have a hope of getting away.

"Don't sweat," Javid said. "We'll protect you."

"Yeah, grade-A stuff. We walk all you little kids to the primary school in the morning before getting on the tube," Josh added. "Same service on the way back."

"What's the catch?"

Josh laughed. "Clever boy! Nothing major, just a pound a week from your pocket money."

George paused for a moment to work it out. He only got two pounds a week from the children's home, and it'd be harder to get sweets and stuff if he was down to a pound, but the way that Josh and Javid were acting, there wasn't much chance to refuse. It occurred to him that if the two older lads escorted eight or nine smaller kids to school every day, they'd be making nearly a fiver each, plus their two pounds.

"So, you paying up?" Javid asked, a nasty expression on his face.

For a moment, George hesitated, not sure what to say, so Josh jumped up and bunched a fist.

"I don't wanna play dirty, but everyone pays us. If you're the exception, it won't just be the kids out there beating on you."

"Okay, okay. I'll pay you, but I haven't had any pocket money yet," George said, not mentioning the money he'd got from Ian. "I can pay whenever we get it."

"Wednesdays. We'll come and get it from you," Josh said, smiling and giving George a shove on the shoulder that almost made him tip backwards onto the duvet. "C'mon Javid, let's split."

The two boys disappeared down the corridor and George pushed the door shut. There was a nasty atmosphere after the threats and George wanted to cry again, but if the staff were in before eight o'clock they'd probably have little sympathy. He settled for burying his head under the pillow and biting the sheet, blinking hard.

True to their word, Josh and Javid walked a group of younger kids to the primary school in the morning, setting off twenty minutes early so they'd have time to double back on the tube. George counted ten kids in the same uniform as he was wearing, including himself, so Josh and Javid were making plenty out of them. The staff seemed to think that the older boys were just being nice and making sure that everyone got there safely, so they didn't make much effort to investigate. George doubted that they knew about the money, but if he grassed them up Josh would turn him to mincemeat.

School dragged and nobody from Scarborough Block was in his class, so George spoke to a couple of boys and took part in a kickabout at lunchtime but didn't meet anyone he could call a friend. He was a little bit small for his age and so the bigger football-playing lads didn't give him a second look. Only after weathering a brutal sliding tackle from a Year 6 did he earn a little respect which stretched to smiles in the classroom after lunch.

Josh and Javid were nowhere to be seen after school, but George spotted a couple of kids from Scarborough Block hanging around so he walked over to ask what they were supposed to do.

"We just wait for them to arrive. They've gotta come from their school first, and it finishes fifteen minutes later, so it'll be a while yet," a boy explained, looking at his digital watch which was adult-sized and hardly fit.

George liked to go straight home from school, kick his shoes off and get a snack, but it looked like he was going nowhere fast. He took a seat on the low wall at the front of the school and watched the world go by.

"I'm Adam," the boy said, smiling. "You're new."

"I'm George," he replied, smiling back. "I got here on Friday."

The boy nodded like he knew this. "I've been here for two years nearly. Did Josh ask you for money?"

"A pound a week, yeah."

"He's such a dick. Keeps stirring up trouble with the other blocks and then makes money out of us. I have to pay him one-fifty because I got my money nicked at school once and I couldn't pay on time," Adam replied, shaking his head.

"Couldn't you explain that to him?"

"You try explaining anything to that psycho. He acts friendly at first, but it doesn't take long for him to show his dark side."


	4. 4: Routine

4: Routine

There was a surprise waiting for George when he got back. There was a sign on the wall in the lounge area which said 'Strictly no TV until homework is complete', but George hadn't got any and he fancied getting first crack at the cartoons. Andy had told him that the older kids usually hung out in a local park or went to their friend's houses so they didn't have to spend time in Scarborough Block, so it seemed like a good chance to watch something he wanted for a change.

He charged upstairs, pulling off his rucksack and throwing the door open in a hurry. But before he could pull off his shoes and run back downstairs, he spotted a startled-looking guy sitting on the bed opposite his, a couple of bags on the floor at his feet.

"George, this is Michael. He'll be your new roommate," Ian said, appearing from behind the door where George hadn't noticed him. "Sorry it's a bit short-notice but he just got here from another home."

Michael got to his feet, and George was taken aback to note that Michael was a good foot and a half taller than him.

"Nice to meet you, George. Hope we can get on okay in here," he said in a deep voice that was heavily-accented, holding out a hand for George to shake.

George had hardly ever shaken hands with anyone before, and it was extra-weird when it was a teenager, but he did his best anyway. "Hi Michael."

"I'll leave you two for a bit so you can get acquainted, but if you need anything you can come and get me," Ian explained, stepping out of the door and heading for the source of some high-pitched squealing.

To block the sound, Michael pulled the door shut before sitting on his bed. "So, George, how long have you been here?"

George felt a little put-out to have missed out on a golden opportunity to watch some cartoons, but he wanted to get to know the his massive new roommate. While George could hide completely under the duvet on his single bed, Michael lay stretched out and his feet nearly reached the end.

"Since Friday. Today was my first day of school," George said, unlacing his shoes and kicking them under the bed. "Where are you from?"

"South Africa," Michael replied, making a fist. "Don't you recognise the accent?"

George had rarely heard any accents outside of London and American stuff on TV, and he'd meant where Michael had lived before moving to Scarborough Block. He paused for a few seconds, wondering how to respond, but a smile on Michael's face put him at ease.

"Don't worry, I hardly expected you to. Nobody ever does."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen. Got chucked out of a home on the other side of London so they sent me here."

The whiff of scandal got George interested. "What did you get kicked out for?"

"Oh, bits and pieces," Michael shrugged, acting disinterested. "Anyway, I'm gonna unpack. Take it I can't cross this line," he chuckled, pointing to the divide in the room.

Being in the presence of a cool teenager made George feel weird. Michael's stuff was grown-up; a toiletries bag with aftershave and an electric razor; shoes twice the size of his, and, most shockingly, a disposable cigarette lighter and a packet of ten Lambert & Butler.

"You don't mind, do you?" Michael asked, pushing open the window and using the metal rod to hold it open. "I'll chuck the ash out of the window."

Ian hadn't actually said anything to George about smoking in the room, but he assumed that was because hardly any nine-year-olds smoked and he wasn't sure.

"If it bothers you, I'll just go into the garden," Michael shrugged.

"No, it's okay," George replied. Part of him wanted to ingratiate himself and seem cool to the teenager, but another part didn't want to be sat alone in the room if he didn't have to be.

"Good lad." Michael pulled a towel out of his suitcase. "Gonna nip for a shower just now."

George theatrically sniffed his armpit. "Might join you, actually."

Michael roared with laughter. "I think you and me might get along."

The older boy was cool and George was relieved that he didn't seem to have any interest in ripping him off. Michael was technically enrolled in the local secondary school, but he never got out of bed in the mornings so George just left him to sleep. It felt nice when the block staff handed him two pound coins, but it didn't last.

"Thanks squirt," Josh said, whisking the coin away before swaggering over to some younger kids to collect his bounty from them too. George tucked the remaining coin into the front of his bag where it would be hard to find. There was a corner shop five minutes away from Scarborough block, so once school was over and George was back he made a trip to see his roommate.

Michael was leaning on the window frame, a smouldering cigarette hanging outside. George cleared his throat to get the older boy's attention, and Michael turned around, pulling out the headphones from his iPod.

"Didn't hear you come in," he said, flicking away some ash. "How was school?"

George shrugged and dropped his stuff off on the bed. "Boring. We had a great kickabout at lunchtime though, even though the ground was wet. Nailed this Year Six kid with a tackle just before he scored.

"Nice one! How come you're always back so late?" Michael asked, checking his watch. "School finished an hour ago, nearly."

"Oh, just hanging around," George said vaguely. He was sure that Josh wouldn't be able to batter Michael, who had biceps as big as George's neck, but if they found out it was him who grassed, he'd probably have his head flushed. "Anyway, will you come with my to the shop? I got my pocket money and I wanna get some sweets, but I'm not allowed out on my own."

Michael shrugged. "Why not? Not nothing else to do round here. Plus, I'm entitled to two quid and I'm not passing that up."

George didn't bother taking his shoes off and swapped his school jumper for a fleece jacket before heading for the door.

"You going right now?" Michael asked, looking around. "Let me get dressed, ja?"

George thought that Michael's thick accent was funny and he suppressed a giggle while Michael hunted for a clean shirt. He always dressed in black trousers and button-up shirts that George would never touch aside from for school uniform, but he had a black vest underneath that made him look hard and his trainers were new Nikes that George could only admire with jealousy.

"Right then, let's get gone," Michael said, grabbing a jacket and then his cigarette packet. "It's bloody cold outside so I don't wanna hang about."

As they walked, Michael lit a cigarette and puffed away on it, filling the air with a nasty smell. George didn't complain because he wasn't a square, plus he liked the way that bigger kids who'd pick on him normally were scared off by the fifteen-year-old.

"So, have you got any family?" Michael asked, sounding nonchalant.

"No," George replied, feeling a familiar ache when he thought about his mum. "My mum died last week and my dad died when I was little. I've never known anyone else."

"Sorry to hear that. No grandparents or aunties?"

"No. My mum never really said anything about it."

They turned a corner and headed past a row of shops, half of which were shuttered or windowless.

"Shame. My mom died a few years ago, never knew my dad," Michael said, and George noticed a tinge of sadness in his voice. "Here, see if you can get us a packet of these? I'll give you the money and you can get yourself something." He jiggled the cigarette carton in front of George.

"What if they won't sell them to me?"

"I dunno… I don't want to get arrested or something."

"It'll be a laugh, trust me. I'll rescue you if it gets heavy. I just don't wanna put this out."

George wanted to seem cool so he nodded and looked carefully at the brand while Michael handed him a crumpled note from his trouser pocket.

There was nobody else in the shop, so George avoided suspicion by going straight to the back and browsing the sweets. Fruit Pastilles were on offer so he got two tubes and a Mars bar. He tried to look calm as he went up to the counter.

"Afternoon," the man said, picking up the sweets and bleeping them with a handheld scanner. "One-nineteen please."

George considered bottling it for a second, but he took a deep breath. "Can I have ten Lambert & Butler too?"

The clerk gave him a hard look. "How old are you, kid? Eight?"

"I'm nine," George said, staring back. He hated adults who got his age wrong.

"What do you want with cigarettes? If some older boys are forcing you, then you should tell a teacher."

"It's actually for my friend. He's outside," George said, pointing to Michael who was leaning with his back on the glass. "He just didn't want to put out his cigarette and come inside."

After a moment's pause, the clerk shrugged. "That kid's too young to be a cop so I won't get stung." He got the packet from the shelf behind him and took the note from George and clicked it through the till. "Here's your change."

Feeling triumphant, George stepped outside into the cold air and grinned. Michael turned and looked at him.

"You get them?"

"Yup." George handed the packet over, along with the rest of the change.

"Quality! You've got balls," Michael said, studying the change. George was well pleased by the compliment.

"Eh, there's plenty here. You could've spent a bit, I'm not bothered," Michael finally said, holding out his palm.

"Oh, I did. My stuff was over a quid, so I took twenty pee," George said. "Thanks."

"Twenty pee, wow. Living dangerously, huh?" Michael said, flicking away the butt of his cigarette as they walked back. "You saving up for something?"

"Huh?"

"You get two quid, same as me, ja? What about the other buck?"

George felt awkward. He couldn't think of a good excuse. "Yeah, saving."

"Got your eye on something?"

"Um… kind of."

"Kind of. When I was your age I had a list pinned to my wall with a list of everything I wanted to buy and the reference for the Argos catalogue," Michael laughed. "You're better than I am."

They walked in silence for a while, George not sure how to reply while Michael eyed up a woman who was walking on the other side of the road.

"You fancy going to the cinema or something? I'm not sure I wanna hang around in that room all day," Michael asked. "Tickets for kids like you are dirt cheap."

"Can you sneak me into a twelve-a?" George asked excitedly. "I always wanted to see one but my mum never let me."

"Why not?" Michael laughed. He always seemed to find that kind of thing funny. "I think it's a buck for juniors, so if you don't mind skipping a week of saving, I'll pay for the bus."

The thought of going to see a film with a cool older kid was awesome, but George didn't have any more money on him and didn't know how to explain. "Um, I left the money in my room," George bluffed, hoping to raid the money he'd stashed under his mattress.

"I can't be arsed walking all the way back to bloody Scarborough," Michael complained. "I'll lend it to you and you can pay me back just now."

"Okay," George said, following Michael as he broke into a jog to catch the red bus that had just pulled up.

They ended up going to see a crappy action film because it was the only 12A that was showing. The bored-looking woman in the box office didn't miss a beat selling a junior ticket and they sat on the back row. Michael got bored after ten minutes and spent the time doing a stupid voiceover that had George in stitches for an hour. To top it off, on the way out Michael wolf-whistled at a twenty-something woman in tight jeans and they got chased by her boyfriend. Once they were safely on the bus, Michael gave the guy a two-fingered salute and George was clutching his sides, trying to get his breath back and stop laughing.

"Here, let us have that pound," Michael said when they got back to the room. "I've got a crap memory and I'll forget."

George lifted up his mattress and hunted for coins, but he only came up with about thirty pence.

"Change for a fiver?" George asked hopefully.

"Eh? What about the pound they gave you this morning?" Michael asked, hunting through his wallet and coming up short.

George felt uncomfortable and Michael noticed.

"Did some kid slap you at school or something?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Lunch money and that?"

"It's Josh and Javid. They live at the other end of the block and they ask every kid at school for a pound so we'll get protected from the older kids in the other blocks," George blurted. "I has to pay him this morning so that's why I don't have it."

"Scumbags," Michael steamed. "Extorting primary school kids. Which room are they in?"

"Listen, you can't let them know I told you. I'd get pounded so hard for grassing."

"True," Michael said, sighing and sitting down heavily on his bed. "Still, they deserve a beating. Stand up for yourself."

"You could take them easy, but I'm tiny. They'd eat me."

Michael laughed. "Good point. I won't let on, don't worry, but that's shitty of them."


	5. 5: Circle

**5: Circle**

The next day Michael actually got up for school, not bothering with a tie or blazer.

"I'll be back later on if you wanna hang," Michael said, shrugging. "Don't know what this school's like but I'll give it a try."

It rained all morning so there was a wet playtime indoors. George wanted to stretch his legs, but he was left playing draughts with two of the pieces missing after lunch. He was starting to make friends with a boy called Charles, who seemed friendly enough and better yet, had a PlayStation. They were discussing FIFA and making a pyramid out of draught pieces by the end of lunchtime and George wondered if he'd be able to go to Charles' house sometime.

After school he waited as usual for Josh and Javid to arrive, but when they did it was only Javid, and he had a black eye.

"You!" he yelled from halfway down the road, pointing at George. "Little grass, just wait until I get my hands on you."

George immediately twigged that Michael must have given him the black eye and then Javid had put two and two together. He turned on his heel and set off at a sprint in the opposite direction, heading for a gaggle of mums who were there to pick up their kids. It was a fair distance, though, and Javid closed most of the gap by the time George breathlessly pulled up next to them. All of the women gave him suspicious looks, but they were more inclined to sympathy for a nine-year-old in primary school uniform than an older kid who looked rough.

"They've got to leave eventually," Javid said nastily, stamping hard on George's foot. "Then you're mine."

Silently cursing Michael, George decided he might as well get in some licks. "Who gave you the black eye? Was it a girl?"

Javid spat in his direction but didn't reply.

"What about Josh? Too scared?" George knew he was just getting Javid more riled, but he didn't want to seem weak, and if Javid lashed out with adults around he wouldn't be able to deliver such a beating.

"Shut up, you little shit," Javid snarled, grabbing a bunch of George's jumper. "I'm going to knock seven bells out of you just as soon as-"

His sentence was interrupted by one of the teachers storming out of the nearby classroom and giving Javid the evil eye.

"Just what are you doing, young man? I suggest you leave this boy alone and go straight home, or I'll call the head."

"I'm not one of yours," Javid said contemptuously, pointing to the school crest on his blazer. "Does this look like a primary school jumper?"

George noted that Javid was actually wearing a coat over his blazer which had obscured the blazer, but he decided not to comment. Taking his chance, he set off at a sprint towards Scarborough Block, hoping that the teacher would keep Javid from coming after him for long enough.

He only managed to get a few hundred yards and across two roads before Javid caught up, punching him hard in the back. George staggered for a few steps, his heart in his mouth, but caught his balance and ducked into a doorway. It only bought him a couple of seconds, and with hindsight he realised it was stupid because a beating on the street was more likely to draw attention.

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Javid stepped after him and tried to grab him around the neck. George squirmed away and gave the older boy a two-handed shove, but Javid kept his grip and pulled George into a headlock.

"Time for pain!" he said with glee, glancing a punch off the side of George's head. It didn't connect with much force, but it cracked him right on the bony part of his head and hurt like the devil.

Desperate, George tried spinning and escaping the lock, but Javid didn't let go. Instead, George felt a hard jerk on his neck and then he was falling backwards, unable to put his hands out to protect himself. His head landed hard on Javid and his backpack saved his spine, but his arse bounced off the concrete as the pair tumbled onto the pavement. Javid's grip relaxed and George sprang up as quickly as he could, ready to scramble away. He noticed that Javid had hit the ground much harder than he had and didn't seem to be getting up, choosing instead to roll on the floor clutching his elbow.

With an easy target writhing on the ground, the red mist descended and George lashed out with a kick, hitting Javid in the side. The older boy groaned with pain, but George's second kick missed and the momentary wobble gave George his brains back. He set off at a sprint again, now heading straight for Scarborough Block and not looking back to see if Javid had recovered.

To George's relief, Michael was in their room when he got back, wearing a vest and boxers and lounging on the bed reading a magazine.

"What did you do?" George asked, angrily pointing a finger and hoping that Michael wouldn't notice the redness around his eyes. He hadn't realised during the fight, but the glancing blow to his head had caused him to cry a little bit.

"Eh? About what?" Michael replied, looking at George over the magazine with a bewildered expression.

"Javid came after me when I got out of school. I only just got away," George said, kicking his shoes off with enough force to send them flying into the wall. "He had a black eye."

Michael looked guilty. "Oh, yeah, that. I bumped into them at school, they were shaking down a couple of kids for cash. I actually just knocked their heads together and told them to stop taking money from little kids, I didn't realise it had done much damage," he confessed, dropping the magazine onto the floor. "I didn't think they'd trace it back to you."

"Well, they did," George said, some of the venom fading from his voice as he calmed down. "I suppose they deserved what they got."

"Where's Javid? If they come in here, I'll kick 'em," Michael grinned.

"He got me in a headlock but he fell over and hit his elbow on the pavement," George said. "I gave him two really hard kicks, though." He felt okay exaggerating because it would probably just make Michael respect him more.

"Good job. He's a knob anyway." Michael smiled and rummaged in his pocket. "You want a tissue?"

George nodded and took the slightly crumpled packet from Michael, blowing his nose and surreptitiously dabbing at his eyes.

As he lay on his bed later, listening to Michael snoring, George started to get worried. There was nothing to stop Javid or Josh coming after him another time, and without their protection he could get battered by some other kid. Worse, he kicked Javid in the middle of the street with loads of people around; what if the police got involved? George didn't know what the police would do with a nine-year-old, but he was scared even of the idea that a policeman might tell him off.

"George, you awake?" Michael asked in a sharp whisper. It was odd behaviour considering that he'd been snoring up until a second ago, so George didn't say anything. He hoped Michael wasn't about to get naked or something.

Instead, the older boy got up, pulled on a pair of trousers as quietly as possible and stepped out of the room shirtless, disappearing. George assumed he was going for a slash, but it was odd that he checked to see if George was asleep first. He went back to worrying, wondering if he might be let off if he contacted the police first and explained everything, but when the bedroom door opened again there was an elderly lady with Michael. He shut his eyes quickly, not wanting to let on that he was awake.

"Alright, he's still asleep," Michael whispered. "Do it gently, his arse is a mass of bruises from when he fell over earlier."

"Thanks," the lady said, opening up her handbag. "It's not a big needle and he's sleeping in a good position, so I'll put it in his arm just to be sure."

The mention of a needle sent George's eyes flying open. As soon as the lady got close, he sat upright and jumped out of bed, accidentally headbutting her in the process.

"Oh shit," Michael said, lunging towards the door to cut off George's exit.

George had no idea why Michael was letting the granny inject him, but he didn't hang around for an explanation. George ducked under Michael's arm in the dark, sprinting towards the stairs. From the noises behind him, Michael had tripped over or something, so he kept going, looking absurd in his matching pyjamas and bare feet. The reception area of Scarborough Block was deserted and he careened through the doors and into the cold, going straight for the nearest bus stop.

He'd realised halfway there that he had no money for a bus fare, but he'd be easy to find on the street, so he ducked into the Underground station as he went past, hoping to find a policeman or security guard or someone. He had no luck, but since there was no-one around he clambered over the ticket gate and jogged down the stairs, not bothering to use the escalator since he was in bare feet and didn't want them to get trapped or something.

There was a train on the platform so he hopped straight on without checking which direction it went in. When he was sure that he hadn't been followed and the doors had shut, he checked the overhead display and the map on the wall of the carriage, discovering that he was going east and had six more stops until the terminus. He figured he could get out at a random station and go back the other way when he needed to, but when they got to the next stop he noticed that the departure board didn't have any more trains on it.

George realised he was an idiot. The tube didn't run all night and if there was nothing going back to central London, he'd be stranded in some godforsaken satellite station until the trains resumed in the morning. It was freezing outside and even on the train he was shivering. His best bet was to ask someone where the nearest police station was and then go and see if they'd look after him.

There was no point getting off at an early stop because the more distance he put between himself and Michael, the safer he'd be. He rode the train all the way to the final stop and then hurried to the station exit. There was no way he could ask any of the station staff about finding a police station because they'd notice he didn't have a ticket, so he waited until everyone was out of sight before jumping the barrier again and walking out into the cold again.

"Sorry, mate," a voice said, appearing out of the darkness. George spun around to see who it was, but something crashed into the side of his head and the nine-year-old fell, but he was unconscious before he hit the ground.


	6. 6: Strange

6: Strange

For the second time in a week, George woke up with a throbbing head. This time it was from the blow he'd taken, and without opening his eyes he gingerly explored the area. It seemed to have bruised a little, but there was no cut. He felt slightly woozy as he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to work out where he was. It looked like a hospital, but there was nobody else around and there was an orange t-shirt hanging on the end of his bed.

Assuming he was supposed to wear it, George pulled it over his head and wondered where the rest of his clothes had gone. There were a pair of khaki trousers and fresh underwear set out on the bedside table, so he figured they were as good as anything until he could ask someone for his trousers back.

It was odd that there were no nurses on duty, and even when George poked his head into the office, it was deserted. There were empty coffee cups lying around, so he decided that it was definitely a hospital that was in use and that if he walked far enough he'd find someone. He didn't fancy leaving without shoes again, considering how cold his feet had got during his trip on the tube, but there hadn't been any shoes around for him to put on. When he doubled back to the bed, he spotted a pair of polished boots at the foot of the bed, tucked underneath. Once he'd laced them up, he trotted out of the double doors.

The window of the corridor looked out on a Oriental-style building, surrounded by an avenue of trees. It was nothing like the buildings in London and the lawns everywhere made George wonder whether he'd been abducted and taken somewhere sinister in the countryside. There were a few other kids in similar clothes to him, but different coloured t-shirts, walking purposefully down the path with kit bags, and George hurried towards the entrance so he could catch up and ask them what to do or where he was.

"Ah, Mr Anderson. You're up," a calm voice said as he reached the reception area. It made George jump and he had a hand on his wildly beating heart as he turned to see who it was.

The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman who was sitting on a tatty sofa looking at some kind of mother & baby magazine. George was stunned for a moment as she stood up and walked over.

"How's your head?"

"It's… hurting, actually," George replied, opting for the truth instead of trying to seem tough. The lady seemed more like someone's mum than a member of a kidnapping squad.

"Would you like something for it?"

This seemed suspicious so George shook his head. Now that he was up and about, his head was actually hurting less, so he decided to grin and bear it instead of accepting drugs from a stranger.

"Okay, well, let me introduce myself. I'm Zara Asker, the chairwoman here."

"Where's here?"

"Good question. I suggest we walk and talk, if that's okay, and you can get a coat from that rack by the door."

They headed towards the Oriental building when they left the hospital.

"This is CHERUB, which is a place where children like you go to live. Everyone you see here works for British intelligence," Zara told him. "Even the kids."

"Like, MI6?" George replied. "Spies?"

"Exactly. This building is our dojo. Every agent learns martial arts to protect them on missions and if you join us, you'll easily become a black belt," she explained, pointing to it. "Most kids like to avoid it because it's tough exercise."

"How did I get here?" George asked, realising he should have asked that first.

Zara sighed. "Well, that's actually rather unfortunate. We were hoping that we could inject you with a sedative and bring you here while you slept, but as you know, you got wind of that and ran for it, quite sensibly."

"You might have guessed that Michael, your roommate, is actually one of our agents. He was placed with you to try and gauge whether you'd make a successful agent. You got your first taste of the talent that our agents all have when he followed you on the tube without you noticing."

George had thought that he'd checked he wasn't being followed, but it would have been easy enough for someone to get on the train while he was looking the other way and then hide in a different carriage. "I suppose so."

"Dragging you into a car would have caused public suspicion and a lot of trauma for you, so Michael took the quick decision to knock you out with a punch. That's why you've got a headache, which I am sorry for." Zara smiled in a parental kind of way and George relaxed a little. It was obvious he wasn't going to be experimented on or sold into slavery, and the place looked much nicer than the bit of London he'd been living in.

"This is our new library. It was opened last month, but there's been some damage already so they're making repairs," Zara said, pointing to a modern building on the left. "Some kids your age wrecked a pirate ship."

George laughed. "If there's a library, is this like a school or something?"

"A bit. There's an education block for lessons, but there's also a firing range for weapons, a swimming pool complex and a high-tech building where the staff work," Zara replied. "To train to be a spy you need a bit more than a bunch of classrooms."

They passed a group of kids wearing grey shirts. They were mucking around, slapping each other with textbooks and folders, but the moment that they noticed Zara they clammed up and walked past in silence.

"Why have they got grey shirts instead of orange?" George asked, noticing that they were passing a large gymnasium where some children in sports kit were doing sit ups in a big line.

"Orange is only for new arrivals like you. Grey is for qualified agents, blue is for agents in training, navy and black are for experienced agents and white is for staff. You'll get a red shirt until your tenth birthday, which is for agents too young to enter training."

"You have to be ten to train?"

Zara nodded. "You have to be ten to join our basic training programme, but if you choose to join you'll go straight into intensive combat and language lessons until training starts."

They'd arrived at a building block and Zara opened the door for George. There were some tired-looking staff around wearing white t-shirts, cleaning up confetti and streamers.

"There was a birthday party yesterday and I'm led to believe that some kids stole a big box of party supplies," Zara explained. "Anyway, this is the Junior Block, where you'll live for the next couple of months until training. If you'd like to have a look around I can hand you over to some of the staff, but otherwise we can go back to my office and I'll explain the rest of the recruitment process."

"Um… Miss?" George asked, not sure what to call her.

"Nobody calls me Miss around here. Zara or Mrs Asker, maybe."

"Well, Mrs Asker, why did you pick me to come here?" It was the question George most wanted to know the answer to. It was odd that he'd be picked, since he wasn't anything particularly special compared to other kids who were bigger or smarter.

"Well, parents don't like their children doing dangerous undercover work, so it's important that you haven't got any family ties. You're also resourceful and intelligent and a whole host of other things we like," Zara smiled. "Basically, you've got potential."

George smiled at the compliments. "But how do you know all of this? Is it in my school reports or something?"

Zara wagged a finger. "Ah, that's the clever part. While Michael was with you, he deliberately set up situations to see how you'd react. Getting you to buy cigarettes, antagonising those bullies so they'd come after you. He did a great job, actually."

"So you let some guy come and try to beat me up?" George said, incredulously.

"You got away, so you showed the kind of determination we were looking for. If you'd cried and begged for your life, you might not have been accepted for recruitment," she said, looking sympathetic.

"But… what if the police get involved?" George added, getting his major worry off his chest.

"Don't worry, you're under the age of criminal responsibility and it was obvious the older boy was trying to hurt you. The police won't be interested in talking to you."

George was relieved. "That's good. I was lying awake worrying about it."

"Fighting on campus is strictly prohibited, though, so if you get into any more scraps you might find yourself doing a lot of laps of our athletics track," Zara smiled. "Now let's get back to my office."

Zara's office had modern furniture and a cool-looking computer, but the effect was spoiled by the damp cardboard boxes stacked all over the place and some Lego Star Wars spread out on the floor behind Zara's chair. George sat opposite her.

"I think that's everything. You can have a few days to make a decision if you want to, and we'll send you back to the children's home in London," she explained.

George felt awkward. CHERUB seemed awesome, but the basic training and being shouted at by instructors wasn't his cup of tea, even if in the end he'd be a black belt.

"I don't mean to be rude, but if you want me to join, you'll probably paint a good picture of CHERUB. How do I know it's not more brutal than you make it out to be?" he asked, trying not to think about military-style training.

Zara shrugged. "You're free to leave at any time and we'll set you up with a foster family."

"Could I talk to someone who won't be biased? Like one of the agents, or a kid my age who's been through it?" George suggested.

"We don't normally let Cherubs talk to orange shirts because it's a security risk, but if it'll sway you then I'm okay with it. Do you want me to find a nine-year-old who you might get on with?" the chairwoman asked, half-rising from her chair.

"What about Michael? I already know him and he's always seemed honest. Except for the whole injection and secret spy organisation thing," George asked.

"Why not? I'll go and speak to his handler now, see if we can't pull him out of lessons." Zara cracked a smile. "In my experience, Cherubs love to miss lessons if they can get away with it."

"Oh, Mrs Asker?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I could get some breakfast?"

As an orange shirt, he wasn't allowed to sit in the cafeteria area, so Zara took him to the seventh floor of the accommodation block instead and knocked on one of the doors.

"Open up, it's Zara Asker," she said firmly, knocking again.

There was some urgent rustling behind the door and it opened a few seconds later, revealing Michael in the same uniform that George was wearing but with a navy coloured t-shirt.

"Uh, hi Zara," Michael said, looking as if he'd just rolled out of bed. "Hi George."

"George is considering joining us but he'd like to talk to someone on the ground, as it were, and get a realistic picture of life as a Cherub. He asked for you," Zara explained.

"No problem. Got nothing going on right now."

"Yes, and don't think your handler hasn't noticed," Zara added, adopting a strict tone. "You may just be back from a mission but it was hardly strenuous and if you need to miss lessons, you have to clear it with her first."

"Loud and clear boss."

"Anyway, George here hasn't eaten, so fix him up with something from your microwave or go and get something. He's not allowed in the cafeteria."

"Roger."

"Bring him back to my office afterwards."

"Will do."

"See you later on, George." Zara smiled before heading towards the lift.

Michael ushered George into his room and closed the door, crossing the room in two strides and pulling open the curtains. He didn't say anything to the orange shirt, instead rapping on a door which George assumed led to an en-suite. The door opened and a girl wearing a man's vest and knickers stepped out. George blushed and looked away, feeling very young.

"Jesus, that was a close one," she said, tugging the vest down when she noticed George. "What're the odds of the bloody chairwoman paying you a visit at ten o'clock in the morning?"

"George, this is Lucy," Michael said, throwing a pair of khaki trousers at the girl. "She'll be gone in a minute."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Don't listen too much to him. He's an idiot, even if he seems cool on the outside," she teased, kissing Michael on the cheek before pulling on the trousers and a black t-shirt and leaving with a wave.

"So, what do you want to know?" Michael asked, sitting down in his office chair and putting his feet up on the desk, facing the bed. "Take a seat."

"Will I have a girlfriend like her one day?" George grinned.

"If you're lucky, but you'd probably be better off picking one who doesn't nag so bloody much," Michael replied with a smile. "Sorry for the punch."

"Hardly hurt," George lied. "You punch like a girl."

Michael shook his head. "Little kids. The moment you get the offer of becoming a spy, you're suddenly the cockiest little bastards on the planet."

It only took an hour for Michael to explain everything George wanted to know and fill him up with pancakes. They both went over to the mission preparation building, Michael keen to miss more lessons.

"It's always a bonus to be in the chairwoman's good books," he explained. "She's the big cheese and dishes out the punishment laps, so every brownie point is golden."

George had decided to join CHERUB and it was just the formalities that remained. He signed some forms and Zara told him that everything from his room had been collected from the children's home so he didn't even have to go back to London for it.

"The last thing is your new name. We'll set up a new identity for you, but you can't use your old name," she explained. "Sorry to put you on the spot but the sooner we get it, the sooner you can settle in."

George's mind was blank. "Can I keep my first name?"

"Yes, but you can change your middle names and you'll need to change your surname."

"I don't know… nothing's coming to mind."

Zara looked thoughtful. "You could change your middle name to Andrew, since Anderson means 'son of Andrew'?"

George nodded. "That sounds cool. I can't think of a new surname though."

Michael smiled. "What about a celebrity? Maybe a QPR player?"

"Another football yob," Zara said, shaking her head. "I don't know where we keep getting them from."

George laughed, but it didn't help him. "Err…"

"A singer or musician?" Michael tried.

The only things that came to mind were terrible, so he looked around the room in a panic. It had to be fate or something, but a CD lying on top of a pile of books caught his eye. It was the exact same one that his mum had owned before she'd died and he could remember her listening to it and dancing around the kitchen.

"My mum loved Gladys Knight," George said, pointing to the CD.

"She's one of my favourites too," Zara smiled. "George Gladys?"

"You could spell it Gladyz with a zed," Michael suggested. "I read somewhere that your mum had a Polish surname like that."

George shook his head. "I like Knight better. George Andrew Knight."


	7. 7: Training

**7: Training**

George's new room in the junior block was a little childish, with a big trunk for keeping toys in and red and green wallpaper, but he didn't mind because it reminded him of his old room. He didn't have too many belongings so his half of the room wasn't particularly full, and the other half was totally empty.

There was a knock at the door so George opened it, even though there were no locks on the doors anyway.

"Hi, are you George?" a carer said with a friendly smile. "I'm Miss Darcie, I'll be looking after you while you're here."

"Hi," George replied, smiling back. "When will I get a roommate?"

"There's someone scheduled to move in tomorrow, assuming all goes to plan. He's the same age as you so you should get along really well," Miss Darcie said. "The good news is that you're exempt from lessons until he gets here, because we're going to start you both off together."

"Okay, thanks," George said, liking the idea of an extra day off lessons.

"I've got your timetable though. Basic training starts in sixty-four days and you've got to get as much into that time as possible. Medical tomorrow." She smiled in a way that made George begin to worry.

With the prospect of a day off the next day, George got drawn into PlayStation marathon until gone midnight, guiding QPR to a respectable fifth place out of ten. The carers yelled at them after that because they were throwing crisps around and George found himself back in his room by one in the morning and he fell asleep straight away, looking forward to a lie-in and possibly some leisurely FIFA the following morning in the recreation lounge while everyone else was at lessons.

Unfortunately he was rudely awakened at eight when the door was flung open.

"Wakey wakey!" Miss Darcie yelled happily, stepping over and whisking away the duvet. "Time to get up!"

George could only manage a groan as he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

"You're pencilled in for a medical at nine; we moved it forward so you'd be around to meet your new roommate when he's back from Oxford," she said happily. "You've got an hour to shower, dress and have breakfast before making your way to the medical building."

"But Miss, I was up late and I can do all of that in half an hour," George complained.

Miss Darcie pulled the pillow away from his face and smiled her evil smile. "I noticed that you were up late, which is precisely why I'm waking you up. The sooner you learn to follow the rules here, the easier your time will be. Now out of bed or you'll really be punished."

The medical was a nightmare. George didn't really feel too tired, but running around on treadmills and having injections and all this kind of thing was just tiresome.

"You'd better not complain," Nurse Beckett warned when he was sitting in a chair trying to catch his breath. "Most kids who come here have to go through all of this as an orange shirt. You're lucky that we were able to do lots of the painful bits while you slept last night."

George considered an hour of exercise painful, especially when it was followed by a trip to the dentist and then a round of injections, but he didn't say anything.

After all that, George had a large lunch in the cafeteria, guzzling chips and two bacon butties while trading banter about the PlayStation battle the previous evening. He noticed that some of the red shirts who had been on campus since they were five or six were the loudest, even daring to crush a ketchup-covered chip into the sweatshirt of a grey shirt who had told them to shut up. More recent arrivals seemed to be quieter, which suited George because it didn't take long for the Arsenal and Chelsea lot to unite in their criticism of Queen's Park Rangers. Once he was done eating, he was in no hurry to get back, so he just sipped at a glass of orange squash and listened in to the conversations the other red shirts were having. The oldest of them were mostly telling each other horror stories from basic training and complaining about how little time was left until they'd be stuck with nobody but fearsome training instructors for company.

The others had afternoon lessons, so George sauntered back to his room, wondering about the PlayStation, but Miss Darcie was waiting in the recreation room for him.

"Your roommate is here so you'd better hurry over. Your lazy attitude is going to cost you, George," she threatened, waving a finger under his nose, but he shrugged it off and wandered down the corridor deliberately slowly.

His new roommate was putting books onto a shelf when George opened the door, and he looked around with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"Hi, I'm George Knight," George said, shutting the door behind him. "I'm your roommate."

"I'm Rex Reynolds," the boy said, putting the stack of books down and scratching his long brown hair. "I just got here."

George noticed some blue t-shirts lying on Rex's bed and suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about his own red ones. "How come you've got blue shirts?"

"I'm already ten years old," Rex replied defensively. He was half a head taller than George with lanky arms and legs, and he spoke with quite a posh accent.

"I'll turn ten in January, when's your birthday?"

"I just had it two weeks ago."

"Well, I'm only two months younger than you, so we're both in the same school year," George replied, smiling. "That's pretty cool. We'll probably be in basic training together."

Rex nodded and went back to putting his books on the shelf. "Where are you from?"

"I used to live in London, you?"

"Oh, I used to live in London. We moved to Henley-on-Thames last year, though."

George was excited to meet someone else from London. "Where abouts in London?"

"Kensington."

"Oh, I used to live in Northolt. Pretty much a slum compared to Kensington."

"Everywhere's a slum compared to Kensington," Rex laughed. "I think my mum might have had a heart attack if she knew I was talking to a kid from Northolt."

The two boys got along pretty well as they talked about everything from the best toy shops in London to what they were most afraid of in basic training.

"Have you met many of the other red-shirts?" Rex asked

"Yeah, a few. We had a FIFA tournament thing last night."

"Oh, football," Rex replied, seemed a little deflated.

"You're not into it?" George asked, not sure if it would come between them.

"Not really. I find it a bit boring," Rex said sniffily. "Lots of overpaid idiots."

"They're not all overpaid. I support Queen's Park Rangers and they don't pay their players as much as the big teams," George said, trying to justify it.

"They're all as boring as each other."

"QPR aren't boring," George was starting to get annoyed, but he didn't want to start an argument so he tried to change the subject.

"My dad used to say that football was a sport for small-minded idiots," Rex sneered. "I thought CHERUB would be full of smarter people than that."

George jumped to his feet. "Are you calling me stupid?"

Rex got up and gave George a two handed shove onto his bed. "Want to fight? I'll beat you up."

"Dickhead," George replied, shoving Rex hard. Rex was taller, but he was skinny and George sent him sprawling. "I thought you were cool!"

Rex didn't reply, getting up and trying to grab George's arm. George smacked him in the face and tackled him to the ground, hitting the carpet with a thud. Just as he thought he was going to be able to pin Rex, his opponent squirmed away and pinned him instead. George sat up quickly and knocked away an arm, pushing his shoulder into Rex's stomach and trying to get Rex to let go of his wrist. They rolled over again, Rex trying to get to his feet but tripping. George grabbed his shirt and shoved him onto the bed again, leaping on top with a body slam that made Rex groan.

"Yeah, take that, posh-boy," George grinned, getting off and backing away.

Rex smiled guiltily. "I should learn not to start fights with kids from the ghetto."

George offered a hand and Rex pulled himself up. "I guess that once we learn karate, rumbles will get a bit more brutal," George laughed. "Do you want a drink?"

"Okay. Sorry I pushed you," Rex said, red in the face from the exertion.

"Fancy a butt-kicking on the PlayStation too?" George suggested. "Not much to do in here unless you're packing a TV in that suitcase of yours."

George got an evil eye from Miss Darcie when she spotted him on the PlayStation, halfway through a race on Grand Turismo, but she said nothing because he was with Rex. Annoyingly, Rex played perfectly, never crashing and skimming the apexes while George smashed into barriers at 120mph.

"You're too good," George admitted after he was beaten by over a minute for the third successive time. "I'd paste you at FIFA, though."

"I've never played it, so probably," Rex said, shrugging. "Shame you're shit at racing, I'd have preferred a bit of a challenge."

"Well you're shit at-"

"Rex Reynolds and George Knight," a voice boomed from behind them. Both boys looked over their shoulders to see a huge guy standing there, a white t-shirt stretched over a giant chest. "I sincerely hope that you two do not become regular visitors to the chairwoman's office, but if you continue to use bad language I'm afraid you almost certainly will."

"Sorry," George said quickly, wondering what the man wanted.

"I'm Mr Nickson, acting head of the Junior Block. Nice to meet you both."

They got crunching handshakes, but George didn't want to let the pain show.

"Now, I'm going to forget what I heard, but I expect perfect behaviour from now on. A bit of hard work will get you disciplined. I've put your timetables for the next few weeks in your room." He smiled mirthlessly and disappeared, leaving George and Rex to their thoughts.

"Well, if you get busted for swearing, I'm gonna spend a lot of time being punished," George remarked with a grin. "Fancy another race?"

Their timetable was really strict. It started at nine o'clock every morning with two hours of combat training, then two hours of intensive German lessons before half an hour for lunch, two hours of fitness training at the pool and then two more hours of combat. After they'd eaten dinner, there was time set apart for homework.

"I'm not sure about all this," Rex complained. "German?"

"Better than French," George shrugged.

"But I've done some French."

"Probably why they're making us do German, so you have to start from scratch."

"What about the swimming? I've done lessons and everything, but I can't do much more than a couple of lengths," Rex said, jabbing the swimming timeslot with his finger. "Plus, lessons all-day Saturday."

George sighed. "We get a week off at Christmas, though."

"Fat lot of good that'll be."


	8. 8: Girls

**8: Girls**

Since both boys were new at nearly everything, it turned into a competition. Who could do the most sit-ups and press-ups, who could run the furthest, who was best at karate. George found it tiresome, especially when they were swimming because while Rex's skinny frame made him bad at karate, it made him good at swimming and George always finished the two hours session feeling exhausted and humiliated. The training instructors, who were mostly black and white shirts, didn't take any excuses and hurled abuse the moment you slacked off. George progressed quickly with karate, but Rex sensed it was his weakness and often went off for extra training in the evenings while George crashed on his bed and slept or sat on the PlayStation with the other red-shirts.

They were evenly matched in German. The teacher was nice, but she couldn't hide her annoyance when George tried saying phrases in his London accent. Rex always looked smug and George would have liked to give him a smack round the head, but he usually extracted revenge in the dojo later.

"In basic training, you'll be expected to learn a whole new language from nothing," the teacher said after a gruelling session on grammar. "If you don't, you'll fail training. You don't want that, do you?"

Both boys shook their heads.

"Right, then I'll see you tomorrow, and I want to see two pages of examples. No slacking or excuses," she said severely before letting them go.

"Two pages will take all evening," George complained as they headed for the cafeteria. "Stupid bitch."

Rex laughed. "You love her really. It's all 'ja frau, nein frau' from you."

"Shut up," George said, rolling his eyes. Rex had pinned him in the dojo earlier, and it had put him in a bad mood.

The cafeteria was packed for some reason, with a queue stretching out of the door. With only half an hour for lunch, the boys had no option but to join the queue and hope it moved fast enough for them to scarf down their food and run to the pool complex. None of this helped George's mood, so when a couple of red shirt girls slid into the queue in front of them, joining two more of their giggling friends, he got annoyed.

"Come on, we all have to queue, why do you get to push in?" he complained, shaking his head in contempt.

"They were saving us a space," one of the girls said, tucking her dark hair behind her ear and glowering at the two boys. She looked Asian and had big shoulders, which gave her a masculine appearance.

"Don't care, we have to wait longer now," Rex added, returning her glare.

"Well our friends were here first, ya shoulda hurried," the other girl added.

George noticed her strong American accent and mocked it. "I've gotta get my triple cheeseburger and bucket of fries!"

"Say that again and I'll beat you into next week," she replied, making a fist.

"'Ere guvna, I'm scared of a bleedin' girl, innit?" the Asian girl replied, smiling sweetly.

George gave her the finger and Rex tutted.

"Just get out of the line."

"Make us," the American girl added, turning her back on them. "Boys are so retarded."

"Boys are soooo retarded, I mean, as an American I am allowed to jump the queue."

"Make us," the American girl replied, turning her back on them. "Boys are so retarded."

"Boys are soooo retarded, I mean, as an American, I am allowed to jump the queue to get my fix of chicken wings and a giant bag of chips," George replied in an over-the-top accent, making Rex snigger.

The girl spun around, grabbing a plastic meal tray and swinging it at George's head. He ducked it and the plastic smacked into the wall. Rex stepped up and wrenched the tray away from her, but the girl's friend jumped forward and hit Rex with a karate kick in the side. He went straight down, leaving George as the only target. He didn't want to leave the queue because it'd lose their place, so he just fended off kicks and punches as best he could, backing up. A couple of navy shirts waded in and grabbed the two girls, dragging them out of the queue as one of the cafeteria staff stormed over.

"Right, you four, get out," she yelled, a hush coming over the cafeteria. "You can go and sit outside the head of the Junior Block's office and he'll deal with you."

"But Miss, they pushed in," George complained, bitter that he had hardly done anything wrong.

"I don't care who pushed in, all four of you are going. Right now."

George and Rex sat on one side of the door and the two girls sat on the other side, trading the occasional glare, but they remained silent until the door opened.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise. Rex, George, I'll deal with you two first," Mr Nickson said, beckoning for them to come into the office.

The pair took seats in plastic chairs opposite the desk, feeling nervous.

"So, I understand that you started a fight in the cafeteria," he said, leaning on the desk with his elbows and looking both boys in the eye. "I want a calm account of what happened without any hysterics or accusations."

Rex was still a bit winded from the kick, so George started. "We were queuing and it was really busy, but those two girls pushed in and joined their other friends in front of us. I told them not to but they didn't listen, then when we kept bothering them they attacked me with a tray."

"Who had the tray?"

"The American girl."

"Then what?"

Rex took over. "The other girl kicked me and then they tried to punch George, but some others pulled them away and then we got sent here."

"And neither of you antagonised them beyond telling them to leave the queue?"

George said nothing, but Rex was going for the honest policy. "We made fun of the American girl's accent a bit."

Mr Nickson sighed and ran a hand over the stubble covering the top of his head. "Well, you should know by now that poking fun at people, especially at things like accents, is asking for trouble. Since you'll be starting basic training soon, I'll let you off with a warning, and we'll deduct a week's pocket money to pay for the tray. If I hear of any more fighting or mickey-taking, you'll be back in here for an absolute rollicking, am I clear?"

"Yes sir," the boys said in unison.

"Go back to your lessons."

"What about lunch?" Rex asked.

Mr Nickson smiled. "Looks like you've forfeited lunch for today."

As George and Rex left, Mr Nickson poked his head out of the door.

"Ah, now for the lovely ladies. Letticia Katz and Jemima Suzuki, get in here."

"Thanks for covering for me," George said as they headed for the pool.

"I wouldn't grass you up. Anyway, I have as much reason to be annoyed at them as you," Rex replied. "My whole side aches and I have to do all this fitness training."

"We should get them back," George said, scowling. "They deserve it."

"How? If we get in trouble, he'll crush us," Rex replied, shrugging. "I'm up for it if you've got a plan."

George thought for a moment. "We can't exactly fight them, they're way more experienced than us. We need some way of getting at them. I'll try thinking this afternoon."

It came to him when he was showering after their combat session in the dojo.

"Listen, we need something where they can't prove it was us, right?" George said when they were safely back in their room. "None of the rooms here have locks, so if we sneak into their room and leave something that they can't link back to us, we'll get away with it."

"Like a turd?" Rex giggled. "That would be so awesome."

"Too messy," George laughed. "I was thinking something like, we set their alarm clock to the middle of the night and hide it somewhere. When it goes off, they'll both be woken up and have to search the entire room for it."

Rex shrugged. "That's not really very mean, though. It'll annoy them but we've gotta really get them back."

"What if we hide it in some sweaty gym kit?" George suggested, pointing to his kit bag. "We can cover it in other stuff, like the smelly shavings from the guinea pig cages."

"Yeah, then when they grab the alarm clock they'll get their hands covered," Rex grinned. "Let's do it."

"We just need to wait until they're out at dinner. They'll be starving so it'll take them a while, we'll have ages to do everything." George laughed. "I can't wait to hear them screaming."

It was a simple task to steal their alarm clock from their room and wrap it up in a smelly red t-shirt, and Rex returned with a bag full of nasty shavings which he'd mixed up with soggy toilet roll for added gross factor. They set the clock for two in the morning before smearing it and wrapping it back up. George darted back into the girls' room and carefully hid it on top of their wardrobe, underneath a Barbie convertible. He ran back, giggling and glad that none of the staff had seen them.

"This is gonna be the best," Rex said, bouncing on his bed with excitement. "Show them not to mess with us!"

"We don't even need to stay up, their screams will probably wake us," George laughed. "Now let's go and get some food, I'm starving."

George was wrong about their screams waking them up. It was actually the sound of their door getting kicked in at 2.02 that did it.

"You little scumbags!" Letticia screamed, her accent getting thicker. "I'm gonna pull every tooth out of your heads one by one."

George scrambled out of bed and almost bumped into Rex, who'd had the same idea, narrowly avoiding a vicious kick from Letticia. Jemima attacked Rex, but he was ready for it this time and dodged the kick, sweeping away her leg and pushing her down onto the floor.

Letticia kept up the barrage on George, and he ducked, looking for an opening. Letticia was much smaller than he was, but she was really going for it. He knew from training that an angry opponent makes mistakes, but the karate moves didn't look like mistakes to him. His salvation came when Letticia tripped over someone on the floor and toppled backwards. George didn't fancy hitting a girl and ran into the corridor, shouting for the carers, before stepping back inside to try and extract Rex, who now had to deal with both girls by himself.

Before they could get back to their feet and do any more than the occasional blow from a flailing arm, one of the carers barrelled into the room and grabbed Letticia by the shirt, dragging her backwards while George tried to prove his innocence by pulling Jemima backwards, but she spun and tried to kick him. The carer grabbed her foot and pulled both girls into the corridor, yelling "What the hell is going on in here?"

George wanted to explain, but Rex had a nosebleed so he grabbed some tissues for him first. They shared gleeful expressions; the girls started the fight and they couldn't prove anything about the clock, so they'd get punished.

For the second time that day, George and Rex settled into the plastic chairs in Mr Nickson's office. He was wearing a giant grey dressing gown but he was no less ferocious as he opened up.

"Were you not in here earlier? Did I not tell you to stay out of trouble?" he roared, hands slamming the desk. "What made you think that you should go off on a petty revenge mission?"

"I don't know what you mean," Rex replied resolutely. "The girls just attacked us out of the blue."

"Each time you like to me, Reynolds, I will give you one hour of punishment in the recycling centre each. You're on one, care to make it two?" the man replied, fixing them with a steely glare.

Neither George nor Rex wanted to make things worse so they sat in silence.

"Recognise this?" he said, picking up a sweaty red CHERUB t-shirt and setting it on the desk in front of them. "Odd that this should end up in their room, hmm?"

"Letticia is a red-shirt too" George said, keeping his voice diplomatic. "It must be hers."

"Two hours. Once you miserable idiots were dragged to sit outside my office, the staff searched your kit bags. George, you appeared to have spent the afternoon shirtless. Thoughts?"

George knew they were busted, but he went for a last-ditch effort. "I lost it after combat training. I came back in my sweatshirt only."

"Three hours. A member of staff saw you return wearing your t-shirt. Would you like to call her a liar?"

The boys went back to silence.

"Normally I'd put this down to high spirits and give you a few punishment laps, but since you did this right after I spoke to you earlier, I have no sympathy. Both of you will run two laps of the athletics track every day from now until basic training commences, and you'll get no pocket money until then. Best of all, if I hear of any more antagonism between you two and Letticia and Jemima, I will make you run until you puke, and then you will run some more. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"You said that last time but you ignored me. There is no place for lax discipline at CHERUB. If you cause any more trouble of any kind, you will have a few one-on-one sessions with one of the training instructors and they will not only make your life miserable now, but they'll have some special punishments during training. Now get out of my sight. You'll report to the recycling center once you've run your laps tomorrow to get your three hours out of the way."

George had never been in that much trouble before and he felt punch-drunk as they went back to their room. Rex was sniffling a bit and went straight to bed, while George spent a few minutes getting a glass of water and wondering if he was really cut out for the discipline they demanded from all Cherubs. Basic training was going to be a nightmare.


	9. 9: Christmas

**9: Christmas**

For George, Christmas usually involved getting up at seven, tearing into his presents while his mum drank strong coffee and then entertaining himself until lunchtime. Instead of turkey and trimmings they had scampi and chips with lemon meringue pie for dessert, because those were his favourites, then they watched TV and played board games for the rest of the day. It didn't seem like much but it was George's favourite day of the year, because he usually had to go to school on his birthday.

Christmas on CHERUB campus was a different matter entirely. The festivities started with football on the muddy football pitch next to the lake, which was basically George's dream. Rex wasn't so keen, and while George spent his time making full-on sliding tackles through the puddles, Rex stood near the goal and shivered. The entire population of red-shirts took on the staff, who found themselves hopelessly outnumbered. Whenever the staff used their speed or size to get the ball, they found eight or nine kids hanging onto their arms and legs, and more than once a training instructor was toppled face-first into the mud.

Muddy and happy, George led the charge to the showers and spent the rest of the evening cheering on the sidelines and generally enjoying the atmosphere. His enthusiasm was catching so even though Rex didn't much fancy standing in the cold, he eventually got into it, especially once he'd downed three hot dogs. The highlight of the night was the black shirts versus the navy shirts, which was settled by a rocket from the halfway line by one of the biggest black shirts, resulting in a giant pile-on with the goalscorer at the bottom.

Since they'd only arrived a few weeks earlier, George and Rex weren't in the junior nativity play. They sat in the audience and made the most of, especially since their seats were next to a group of black-shirts who appeared to have had a sneaky drink and yelled all the way through, even when the staff told them to be quiet. George constantly found himself in stitches listening to them, and when they broke into a chorus of 'Why Are We Waiting' during Jesus' birth, George fell off his chair and had to be rescued by a couple of black-shirts who thought that this was the funniest thing ever.

After this was the main event, present-opening on Christmas morning. The junior block seemed to wake up at about five o'clock and made as much noise as possible, waking George and Rex. There was no way to sleep with about twenty seven-year-olds screaming in the corridors.

"Might as well go over," Rex said, yawning. "See what we're getting."

George wanted to act cool and collected, like Christmas was no big deal, but he still felt the familiar excitement of getting presents. He couldn't keep the excitement out of how quickly he dressed, and noticed that Rex was much the same.

"Do you know how this whole thing works?" George asked as he laced his trainers up. "Like, what we're getting?"

"Not really. Some of the younger kids were saying that everyone gets the same amount," Rex replied. "Don't know how much that is, though."

They braved the littler kids running around and made their way down with everyone else to the gymnasium where the presents were to be opened. The carers were forcing everyone back from the doors, but George and Rex managed to push into a decent position.

"Okay, once the doors open remember that the presents are in alphabetical order. Yours will be in the middle of the room," Miss Darcie said firmly to all of the red-shirts. "It's your surname, not your first name."

George noticed some of the older kids on campus waiting behind them, laughing at the hyperactivity of the red-shirts, and he felt a little embarrassed, like he was too old to be excited, but once the final countdown started he forgot about it and ran into the hall like everyone else.

His presents were under 'K' for Knight, and the pile was huge. Since he'd lived with his mum and they hadn't had any family, the only things he'd had to open on Christmas day were a few presents from her plus a few bottles of wine that his mum got from her work colleagues. This year, though, there was a big stack, and they were definitely all for him. With a grin, he tore into the top one, revealing a bag of chocolate coins. He didn't pause to open them, moving straight onto the next one. The best things he got were a QPR home shirt, something he'd been wanting for years but his mum had always said was too expensive, an iPhone and a huge box of chocolate bars. When he thought he'd unwrapped everything, already wearing his brand new shirt, he spotted a little parcel wrapped in a different design of wrapping paper to all the ones he'd seen. Curious, he pulled it open and discovered the Gladys Knight CD that he'd seen in Zara's office. There was a handwritten note taped to the front.

Dear George,

Thought that you might appreciate this. Maybe eventually you'll listen to it and enjoy it!

Zara & Ewart

With everything pile neatly next to the card with his name on, George went to find Rex. His best friend was standing waist-deep in wrapping paper, admiring the box for a PSP.

"Hey, is that yours?" George asked, grinning.

"Yeah! It's awesome," Rex said, putting it back with his other stuff. "That shirt makes me gag, though."

George punched him in the shoulder, but it was gentle. "Anything else?"

"Just a few bits and pieces, some games for the PSP. What about you?"

"Got an iPhone. I've never had a phone before."

"Woah, iPhones are really cool. You can put games on them and loads of other cool stuff," Rex grinned. "I'll probably be borrowing it a lot."

"If I can borrow your PSP," George replied. He didn't feel like telling Rex about the CD.

"Do you wanna head back? We can probably get this box open and play for a while before lunch?" Rex suggested. "I really want to try out the Burnout game.

"Why not? Bagsy second turn," George laughed. "Let me just go and get my stuff."

Halfway back to their room, George felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around slowly and found himself looking up at a teenager who was giving him evils.

"Can I help?" George asked, arms aching from carrying all his stuff. Then it dawned on him. The teen was wearing a Chelsea shirt.

"There are enough scummy Arsenal fans around without needing any more of your lot here," he said, not letting go of George's shoulder. "Better not wear that shirt around campus if you want to keep all of your limbs."

George wasn't sure whether to be scared or not, but he noticed a slight smirk on the guy's face.

"What, annoyed that yet another person supports a club better than yours?" George grinned.

The Chelsea fan laughed. "If we ever meet you in the cup, you'd better hide."

"Oi Matt, stop bothering little kids," a voice shouted, and the Chelsea fan shook his head and jogged off in the direction of the voice, leaving George to ignore the ache in his arms and try to waddle back to the room without dropping anything.

The holiday from lessons only lasted a week and George and Rex still had to run two laps each day, even on Christmas Day. It was all too soon that they found themselves back to Saturday morning lessons, tired from combat practice.

"Only dreißig days until basic training. Feeling the pressure?" their German teacher said, smiling at them. "If you can't do a little German, the language teachers there are going to roast you on an open fire."

George was hearing enough about the horrors of basic training from the other red-shirts and some of the older Cherubs, and it was close enough now that every time he heard it mentioned he got a sick feeling in his stomach. Unfortunately it was pretty much the only thing that anyone ever talked about, so George was grateful for the periods when he was doing his homework or lying in bed and he could try and forget about it.

The only slight break in the dread was George's birthday, coming two weeks before training began. Cherubs didn't get official presents on their birthday, only stuff from their friends, so George came back from lessons to find a pile of sweets on his bed and a single wrapped present. The larger pile was the birthday cards, which had come from plenty of red-shirts, most of the carers including Mr Nickson, and one at the bottom which was from Michael and made Rex jealous. Nearly all of the cards said 'Good luck in training!', which made the sick feeling come back.

"Can't believe you have an older friend. He's so cool," Rex said, looking at the card from Michael. "Did he get you a present?"

"I think he got me the Fruit Pastilles," George smiled. "Anyway, let's see what's in the big one."

The tag said it was 'From all the Junior Staff at Cherub', and inside was a shoebox covered in wrapping paper.

"Weird," George said, opening it up and finding that there was nothing inside except a note telling him to go straight to see Mr Hart in one of the third-floor rooms in the main block.

"I think Mr Hart is an English teacher," Rex said, reading the note. "You'd better go, the teachers can hand out punishments."

George left Rex in the room and walked the short distance to the main building, which he pretty rarely went in since it was mostly accommodation for the older kids. He got a few odd looks from grey shirts when he got in the lift and pressed the button for the third floor.

The third floor was identical to the others, but the rooms were bigger. George worked his way along until he found the right one and then he knocked, starting to get nervous about what might happen. He wasn't exactly the carers' favourite person and he suspected some kind of prank.

He considered knocking again, but the door opened and Mr Hart stood there, looking down at him with a stern expression. He was greying and balding at the same time, which gave him the look of someone's dad, and the wooly jumper he was wearing didn't help.

"Ah, George Knight. I've been expecting you. Come in," he said, his tone level. George followed him, looking around to see if he was about to be attacked or shocked.

"Please, take a seat on the couch," he said. George noticed another nervous-looking kid sitting there already, wearing a grey Cherub sweatshirt. He took a seat as instructed, looking around and wondering what would happen.

Mr Hart stood in front of them with a sombre expression. "George, this is Lewis. Lewis, George. You may or may not know that today is George's birthday," the teacher said. "Wait here for a moment."

George looked at Lewis, hoping to get some indication of what to expect as Mr Hart disappeared through a door into what George assumed was a bedroom, but Lewis' expression was blank.

After thirty seconds of sweating, the door to the bedroom burst open and Mr Hart leapt out, giving George a fright. It took him a couple of seconds to work out that he was wearing a blue and white horizontal striped shirt.

"Come on you hoops!" the teacher said, shaking a fist as Lewis pulled off his sweatshirt to reveal an identical top. "The carers down at the Junior Block have paid for a match ticket for you to come with us to Loftus Road."

George broke into a huge grin. "Get in! This is awesome!"

Lewis laughed. "We're practically an extinct species on campus, so it's nice to have another QPR fan knocking about."

"We're going with you," Mr Hart explained, "But we've had to pay for our own tickets. The match is tomorrow, Sheffield United."

"This is the best!" George said, punching the air. "I've never been before."

"We'll look after you," Lewis said. "But make sure you wear your shirt. Someone's gotta hold back the tide of Chelsea losers."

"Too right. One of them was hassling me at Christmas," George said, shaking his head.

"Hope you told him where to go," Mr Hart grinned.

"Obviously."

Lewis gave him a high-five. "Can't wait for tomorrow."


	10. 10: Kazakov

**10: Kazakov**

All too soon, George's alarm clock sounded, followed almost immediately by Rex's. The two boys switched them off and rubbed their eyes. They didn't say anything to each other, and George didn't think he'd be able to anyway; his stomach was churning with nerves. During the night, some filthy kit had been set out beside his bed. He glanced at Rex, who was examining the dirty underwear.

"I'm not dealing with that," Rex said, going straight for his own clean stuff. George followed suit, only putting on the blue shirt because it had a number on it. He was number one and Rex was two.

"Partners," George said, but his smile was weak and Rex just nodded. Once dressed, they headed out of the room quietly considering that it was five in the morning.

It was still dark outside as they headed in a straight line for the basic training compound, feeling uncomfortably cold. They'd been told not to bring a jumper. Neither of them spoke, preferring to be left with their thoughts. George kept hearing the voices of people telling him all the horrors of training, and as much as he tried to shut it out it kept coming back.

The gates of the compound were open, so they followed a winding track which led them to the training hut, a basic concrete structure without any windows. There were lights on inside, so Rex led the way.

"Ah, Rex Reynolds. And George Knight. Good to meet you," a giant of a man said as they entered, shaking their hands daintily. "Do be so kind as to take a seat on the beds matching your numbers."

There were already two other kids in blue shirts waiting at beds three and eight. Rex and George nodded at them as they sat at their beds, wondering how long they'd have to wait. There were only eight beds in the hut, so George assumed they were waiting for another four. He was freezing sitting still, but the instructor who had welcomed them didn't say anything, he just sat in the office waiting like they were.

It only took a few minutes for numbers four and seven to turn up, two lads who George recognised from the Junior Block. He nodded at them, but one was looking pale and didn't react, going straight to his bed.

They all waited for the final two, and when six o'clock came and went, the instructor got up and addressed them.

"Since five and six have not bothered to come so far, we'll be playing a little game. You'll all remove your new shirts, fold them neatly on the end of the bed, then lie flat on the floor, face down at the end of your bed. After a minute, you'll roll over onto your back, then again onto your front a minute later. We'll continue until your friends arrive," he said, pointing to the floor. "Snap to it."

George wasn't sure what the objective of this was, but he pulled off his shirt anyway and folded it. It was only when he heard the gasps of some of the other trainees that he realised; the floor was absolutely freezing. He gingerly lay onto it and felt the whole of his chest assaulted by cold. His shivering got much worse and he tried to keep his arms tight at his sides to conserve warmth.

After a minute the instructor stamped his boot close to George's ear and everyone rolled over. His back was suddenly freezing, giving his chest a respite. It occurred to George that the idea of the game was to keep them all cold all over and not allow them to get comfortable, but also preventing any damage from lying on the cold too long. He prayed that the others would get there soon.

Seven o'clock came and went and George's teeth were chattering uncontrollably. When he was lying on his front, he could keep his head to one side and look towards the entrance, hoping every second that he'd see the other trainees come in. His wish was finally granted fifteen minutes later, when four boots appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, if it isn't Princess Letticia Katz and Jemima Suzuki. Do come in. Step over the other trainees on your way to your beds. Don't worry; they've only been freezing like this for seventy-five minutes."

When the girls were stood at the end of their beds, the instructor stamped his foot again.

"Alright, up you get. Hope that was nice and refreshing," he said. George jumped up and pulled his shirt on, rubbing his hands on his chest to try and warm it up again and stop his shivering.

"Okay, my name is Kazakov," the instructor bellowed, strolling up and down the row of beds. "I am the instructor in charge of your training, since Instructor Pike is off with a bad back. Assisting me will be the glamorous Miss Smoke," he said, waving an arm towards the long blonde-haired instructor who stood with her arms folded at the doorway. "Since Katz and Suzuki decided to lie-in instead of coming here on time, there will be no breakfast today." He leant right into Jemima's face and grinned. "Ensure you thank them when you feel hunger pangs."

He walked back down the row. "Half of you trainees here already know each other rather too well," he said sweetly, looking at George. "Or, you do according to Mr Nickson over at the Junior Block."

George's heart sank. He was sure it was going to involve him.

"Trainees Knight, Reynolds, Katz and Suzuki, step forward," he suddenly bawled. Jolted by the noise, George took a step forwards. Kazakov walked back past them, stopping in front of each of them as he did.

"I hear that you four do not get along. Something about playing tricks on each other, fighting. Sounds funny to me, does it sound funny to you, Reynolds?"

Rex shook his head. "No, sir."

"No indeed!" he shouted into Rex's face. "If you have lax discipline, you might as well leave now. You will never pass basic training. Katz, do you want to pass basic training?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well I can tell you, you will not pass. Sorry Katz. Off you pop. See you on the next course." Kazakov eyeballed Letticia and waited for her to respond. She said nothing, staring straight forward.

"What are you waiting for, Katz?"

"I'd like to try, sir."

"You'd like to try. Hmm. Well, if you'd like to endure the misery, you're welcome to," he shrugged, walking onwards and stopping next to Jemima. "Anyway, teamwork is a vital skill for agents. Petty grudges cannot be tolerated. So, just for fun, let's try something new. Suzuki, your shirt."

He held out his hand expectantly. Jemima pulled off her shirt and handed it over to him.

In three giant strides, Kazakov went back down the row and stopped in front of George. "Knight, the same."

George pulled off his t-shirt and got Jemima's in return. Kazakov handed his to Jemima then smiled.

"Excellent. Two of you are are the wrong bunks, so if you could correct that, that'd be marvellous."

George caught a look of panic from Rex as he swapped bunks with Jemima. Letticia gave him a stony look as he passed and stood at the end of bunk six.

"Now we're done with that, onwards," Kazakov said, resuming his up-and-down walk.

They were sent to run the assault course and it was the first time the trainees had been able to talk to each other. George was nervous about being partners with Letticia, who he hadn't spoken to since she'd tried to beat him up in his room.

"Look, I'm sorry about what we did," George started as they jogged to the assault course. "I really want to pass basic training and we're only going to do that if we can work as a team and get over it."

George was expecting an icy reception, but he was pleasantly surprised to find Letticia nodding.

"I agree totally. I'm sorry about the thing in the cafeteria," she said, looking at him and smiling. "I want to pass too. Partners?"

"Of course," George replied, but there was an awkward silence. "Letticia is a nice name," he eventually said, feeling like a tit.

"People call me Letty," she said, blushing slightly. "Anyway, let's concentrate on the assault course."

After they'd run the course and stood rinsing their muddy clothes, George was actually pleased he'd been partnered with Letty. She seemed tough and they worked well as a team; they'd finished the assault course first. Rex was George's best mate, but his lanky arms and legs would do him no favours, plus Letty was one of the red shirts who'd been on campus since she was five and not only knew everything about basic training, but had all the skills.

"Come on. There's no breakfast so we'd better go straight over to the PT area or Kazakov will bite our heads off," she said, pulling on her t-shirt and setting off at a jog.

George followed, his socks squelching uncomfortably, wondering if he thought Letty's accent was cute or annoying.

There wasn't much time to speak during the each day, and when there was George spent it asking Letty about various aspects of training so he'd feel better prepared, but he gradually got to know the other trainees. Jemima, Letty's friend, was really strong, athletic and good at karate. Rex never seemed happy to be with her and looked a little resentful when he saw George and Letty chatting.

Trainee three was a girl called Beatrice who was really small and looked delicate. She was as good at karate as any of the others, but she seemed to tire out quickly on the assault course and during PT. Her partner was a big stocky Caribbean boy called Ralph who George knew from the rec room. He was a bit slow but basically alright, and he carried Beatrice's things occasionally to give her a break.

Five was Letty and George was six, which left trainee seven, a quiet boy called Harry who Letty said had been at CHERUB ever since she'd joined and was on his second attempt after he broke an arm the last time. He threw up during PT and the instructors gave him a hard time, but he stuck through it and he was always the most efficient, getting his clothes washed in a flash to give himself more time and eating every scrap of food. Harry's partner was a short boy called Ed who had a big mouth in lessons and who complained about every little thing, which didn't really ingratiate him with the other trainees.

All of the trainees worked together to get through the day, with assistance on the assault course. George still hadn't really got used to learning a new language, so when he was told he had to learn Russian he wasn't sure he'd manage, but Harry was also doing Russian and did his best to help out during their lessons, held in the freezing cold. Letty was doing Greek with Rex and Ed, and she seemed okay with it. The other lessons were a mix; George turned out to be pretty good at stuff like survival training and weaponry, but espionage was gruelling and George learned to dread it, especially when the teacher got fed up of his fumbling and gave him a tongue-lashing for the tiniest little thing. Everyone else did okay and avoided the grief because it was all aimed at him, but after a while he was used to going extra homework for espionage with Letty to try and save himself in the next lesson.

The only thing that made George's life slightly easier was the fact that Jemima and Rex never got on. They were constantly bickering and really hammered each other during karate training. Jemima always had the upper hand and beat Rex up. She often left him behind on the assault course, too, but Rex got even by abandoning her during class and if it wasn't George getting yelled at, it was probably Jemima. Kazakov started to single their pair out for extra duties, like a bonus lap of the assault course instead of lunch or getting them both to stand outside all night. It never seemed to help. George could tell that the instructors were trying to help them, but if it meant he got to sleep under the thin blanket instead of outside, he wasn't going to complain.


	11. 11: Exhaustion

**11: Exhaustion**

It came to a head on day fifty. Letty had a good head for numbers and she kept track and told him every morning what day it was, since his head was usually too full of Russian squiggles to remember what she'd said yesterday.

They were learning a technique for moving fluidly between a kick and a punch in karate training, but because of the repeated practice every trainee was getting a few bruises. When it came to the sparring, George caught Letty off balance and knocked her over, then held out a hand to help her up. As he did so, he spotted some commotion coming from behind him.

Jemima was lying in the mud, sobbing and holding her leg. Rex stood over her defiantly, fists bunched, as Smoke dashed over and assessed the damage.

"What happened?" Letty asked George, but Ed answered.

"Rex managed to knock Jemima down for a change, and when she went down he gave her this huge kick in the leg," he said, sounding serious. "Can they kick you off for something like that?"

Miss Smoke sent Jemima to the medical center, inciting jealousy in all of the other trainees, but before she got anywhere Kazakov appeared and stopped her.

"Right, you two, over here," he snarled, his face turning red with anger. Dumbly, Rex and Jemima went over to him.

"You two obviously have a problem. I'm going to give you a choice. You can either shake hands and that's the end of it, no more problems. If I hear of another problem, you'll both be kicked out of training.

"Or, you can have a real sparring match, right here, right now. Kick, punch, scratch, do whatever you want to each other, but if either of you gets a serious injury you're both out. After that, if I hear of another problem, you'll both be out."

The other six trainees stood watching, but Smoke lashed out with an arm and sent Harry tumbling into the mud. "What are you lot gawping at? Back to sparring, this isn't for your entertainment."

Kazakov took Rex and Jemima to the other side of the training hut so they couldn't watch. George was worried for Rex, because if he didn't pass training it would make their relationship awkward, and he could tell Letty had the same problem. Everyone's mind was on what was going on, which was bad news for Ed.

He tried the move they'd been drilling earlier, twisting from a punch to a kick, but with his mind on Rex and Jemima he didn't realise that Harry was moving towards him. His kick caught Harry up the backside and the older boy fell forwards, knocking Ed over and trapping his leg underneath him. Ed let out a scream as Harry rolled off, turning white.

"What happened?" Smoke yelled, but one look at Ed's leg made it obvious it was broken. "Right, one lap of the assault course, right now," she yelled as she scooped Ed up in her arms. "Get going!"

It was a sensation. Ed was out of training for sure, and it looked like Rex and Jemima would be going the same way. Harry was lost without his partner and chose to run the course with George and Letty.

"I didn't mean to… it was an accident," he mumbled, looking close to tears.

"Don't sweat it," Letty said, patting him on the shoulder. "He'll get another chance and nobody blames you."

George liked Ed and felt bad for him, but he had to concentrate on his own training. It brought home how easily one little slip could send fifty days of torture spinning down the drain, so he kept his eyes firmly ahead.

When they got back to the training hut, Kazakov was waiting. There was no sign of Rex or Jemima, which meant that they'd either both been thrown out of training or they were at the medical centre. George didn't like to say which.

"Right, you've got lessons to go to, so hop to it," Kazakov said. "I don't want any hanging around gossiping. Anyone found standing still in the next 24 hours will be blasted with the fire hose every hour on the hour for five days."

It was a serious threat so George put everything out of his mind and concentrated on Russian.

Rex and Jemima returned from the medical center the next day, looking sorry for themselves with plenty of bruises but nothing major. Everyone noticed that they started working better together, working as a team instead of abandoning each other. George was pleased that his friend was doing well, but he knew the easy ride everyone else had been getting was over. Unfortunately, the instructors worked this out too.

On day fifty-two, Kazakov blasted them out of bed just before five with the fire hose.

"Okay kiddies, I've noticed that you seem to have had an easy time so far without too many punishments. Well that's just fine and dandy, so today we'll make up for it. Once you're dressed, it'll be just gone five in the morning. You'll run the assault course five times. After five laps, you'll get breakfast. Five more for lunch. Five more for dinner. Then five more and bed. If you fail to complete all twenty laps before bedtime, you won't sleep until you do. Fail to complete them by midnight, you'll be leaving us. Off you go, the earlier you start, the better." He wore a smile like Christmas had come early.

"Probably pleased to get an entire day sitting in the office," Letty muttered as they jogged to the course, dreading twenty laps of it. One left you cold and wet, two was tiring and three were exhausting.

"It's fifteen hours until midnight," George said. "So that's 900 minutes. We've got to complete a lap every forty-five minutes if we don't eat at all, or maybe forty-two if we want fifteen minutes to eat."

"We can complete the course in thirty-five," Letty replied brightly.

"But that's when we're only doing one. After a while, we're going to slow right down," George warned.

"So, do we run the first ones fast to try and conserve time, or go slow to conserve energy?" Letty asked as they reached the start of the course.

"We try to average forty to forty-two minutes per lap and conserve energy," George said. "If we end up behind schedule, we can try to speed up later."

They didn't have watches, so they had to guess their lap times by sneaking glances at the clock in the instructors' office. They could normally finish in less than forty minutes, although once they'd completed ten laps and eaten lunch they were getting behind that goal.

"Halfway," Letty said encouragingly. "We're doing fine, and we got lunch done in ten minutes so we saved five."

"Yeah," George said, smiling back. "I think we can do it."

They were crossing a grassy section on the way to the swim and George's mind was already on the far bank, wondering how long they'd have taken, when he caught one boot on the back of the other and sprawled forwards, hitting the ground hard and slamming his palms into the mud. Sharp pains shot up both arms and he groaned, lying flat as Letty paused.

"George? You okay?"

"My arms…" George said, flexing his fingers. His arms hurt, but he was relieved to find they weren't broken. "I hit them on the way down, got a sharp pain when I move."

Letty looked around for an instructor, but found Kazakov on his way over.

"Get up, worm," he said, shaking his head and looming over George before turning to Letty. "You'd better run on; if you're not done by midnight you'll be out."

Letty disappeared into the water and George looked at Kazakov's boots. "Sir, my arms. I hit my palms and wrists when I went down and there's a shooting pain in both arms."

"But not broken?"

"No."

"Then you can carry on. Get up," he said, giving George a tough kick in the side. "This is tough but Cherubs are tougher."

George tried pushing up with his arms, like a press-up, so he could get to his knees, but the pain in his arms made him gasp and he fell back to the mud. Kazakov stood on his cheek.

"Not good enough. If you don't get up, I'll leave you here until midnight then that's it."

George sobbed a little. He couldn't get up with his arms in so much pain, and if Kazakov wasn't going to send him to the medical centre then his training was probably over.

Tutting, Kazakov crouched down.

"Okay George, roll onto your back, then sit up and climb to your feet that way," he said, using a kinder tone than George had ever heard before. He did as he was instructed, finding that it allowed him to get up with a minimum of pain.

"Now carry on. If you hurry, you'll catch your partner." Kazakov's evil grin was back, and George realised why. With arms he could barely flex, there was no way of swimming across the water obstacle.

"Sir?"

"Knight?"

"How do I get across the water? If I can't move my arms, shouldn't I go to the medical centre?"

Kazakov swelled up like a toad. He grabbed George around the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and began marching towards the perimeter fence.

"You're a quitter, Knight? Want to go to the cushy medical centre instead of swimming? Fine by me. Over the fence you go," he shouted, lifting George up as they approached. "I'll chuck you over, you walk to the medical centre and you'll be warm in no time."

If Kazakov went through with it, George would fail training and he couldn't stand the thought. "No, please, sir, I'm not a quitter. I'll swim, I promise."

"Too late, Knight! You're out."

"No, please, give me another chance. One chance."

Kazakov dropped George just inside the fence and stared into his face. "One chance. You complete the assault course like everyone else or you're out. Now run."

George sprinted back towards the course. He tried moving a wrist and found another shooting pain, but he reckoned that his elbows weren't so bad and if he did a slow swim, he could get through it and then just take it slowly. He was ahead of schedule anyway, and he hoped that Letty would wait for him.

It got dark and the assault course was lit with floodlights by the time George had downed his dinner in five minutes and set off running. He was outside the time he needed to be, although the pain in his arms was slowly fading which meant he could swim and crawl a little bit faster. He'd caught up with Letty and she helped him through the bits that hurt his arms.

"We're too slow, so if you want to go on ahead and leave me, now's the time to do it," George said to her as they resumed. "Sorry, but don't think about me. This is your life."

Letty just smiled. "We're partners, right? If we swapped places, I'd want you to help me, so I'm right here for ya."

George smiled in return as they carried on together, hoping that their lap time would improve.

Their final lap was a frenzy. They put all thoughts of safety to one side and sprinted everything, the last trainees on the course. George ignored all of his aches and pains, and the mud that had got everywhere, pausing only to let Letty catch up when he managed to pull ahead. As soon as they reached the end, Miss Smoke was standing there watching them.

"Good effort. It's now 11.54, so go and shower then straight to bed," she said, not even cracking a smile despite George and Letty's obvious relief.

"I can't believe we did it…" George said, shaking his head as they headed for the cold showers. "I was sure that was the end."

"It's taken it out of everyone," Letty said. "I'm surprised that there haven't been more injuries."

Exhausted, George knew he'd have to be up for lessons in five hours, but he'd just done the toughest day of his life and every minute of sleep in his cold bed was going to be bliss because he hadn't failed.


	12. 12: Hot

**12: Hot**

"Day ninety-six," Letty whispered to George as they got up and pulled on dry but stiff clothing. George smiled at her but said nothing, conserving his energy.

"Trainees!" Kazakov boomed as they dressed. "We have a different schedule today. We will eat breakfast immediately then you will make your beds and ensure everything in your bunk area is impeccably tidy. Anyone who fails an inspection in thirty minutes will have their bed doused with the fire house.

Having your bed soaked was the worst, because apart from having to sleep on a wet mattress, your neighbours invariably got some of their bed wet and they gave you evil glares for the rest of the day. George tidied first, figuring that he needed to get that right before breakfast, then he scarfed down the orange juice and dry cereal that they'd been given.

"We've got to be leaving for our final exercise," Letty said as they ate. "It usually takes a day of travelling, so if we're here today we'd only get two days of final stuff, which isn't much."

She was right, and after the inspection they all boarded a decrepit minibus at the gate and one of the campus staff drove them to the military airport near campus. It was the first time George had been on an aeroplane, so he was disappointed when he saw that it was one of the clapped out ex-Army jets.

The seats were trashed and there was mould everywhere, but they were plentiful and once the jet was airborne, nearly every trainee just found a row and fell asleep lying down.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you," Kazakov yelled happily. "We'll be touching down at RAF Lossiemouth in less than an hour."

George groaned. He'd been hoping for a nice long flight to relax on, plus maybe a hotel, but if they were going to northern Scotland then they'd probably be on some exercise in two hours. He closed his eyes again, hoping to squeeze in thirty minutes before they landed.

After they landed, Kazakov led them across the tarmac towards a commercial airliner that had been painted in RAF colours. With excitement, the trainees realised that Kazakov hadn't been entirely truthful, and with a big airliner they would have to be going a long way.

Once they were all seated in soft seats with entertainment systems and pillows, the jet engines spun up and they were in the air within minutes. As soon as the seat belt light came off, Kazakov reappeared.

"For your final training exercise we'll be doing something we haven't tried before. You may have noticed that all of the windows are covered on this plane. You won't be told where we're going, and we'll land at a military airbase somewhere in the world. You'll be shuttled into the wilderness without knowing where you are, and you'll be given a series of tasks. If you pass, you pass basic training and become an agent. Fail and you go back to day one."

George was still sleepy from earlier and fancied a nap for a while, so while the others chatted in low voices he drifted off with his seat fully reclined.

He didn't wake until they were making their final approach and the seat belt light came back on. He felt refreshed, and hoped he'd made the right decision. If they arrived at night, he'd be horribly jet-lagged and that would make the final exercises hard, but if they arrived in the morning he'd be golden. The landing was a bit shaky, rattling the fixtures and giving George an attack of the nerves. He couldn't see outside and had no idea how far it was to the ground, but a sudden jolt and then a slowing-down reassured him and he settled down.

Once the plane had taxiied, they had to put on eye goggles that were blacked out.

"Anyone caught moving their goggles will instantly fail," Kazakov said, leading each trainee in turn to the aircraft door. The first thing George felt was a blast of dry heat, so he guessed they were in a desert region. Someone led him down the steps and into a vehicle waiting at the bottom which was even hotter than the outside. He was buckled into a seat and left for two minutes before someone else was strapped in opposite. Then the doors were slammed and the vehicle set off.

"You can take off the goggles," Miss Smoke's voice said. George tore them off and found himself sitting in the back of a van without any windows. The driver sat behind a partition with no access, and the only other occupant was Letty.

"How long did we fly for?" George asked, getting straight down to business. The van ride might only take ten minutes and he didn't want to be caught out.

"There were no clocks on the aircraft, and nobody had a watch, but I would guess about nine or ten hours," Letty replied. "I slept for four or five, based on how long I slept for last night, and I was awake for another four or five."

"It's obviously a desert climate," George said, thinking. "We didn't go far enough to end up in somewhere like Australia, so we either flew to the US or Mexico, or we doubled back on ourselves and went to north Africa somewhere."

"There are deserts in central Asia too," Letty added. "They're pretty remote which would make the survival thing more important."

"That's true. So basically we have no idea," George laughed.

"Yeah. So, the survival aspect is gonna be dealing with heat. We need to make sure we ration water and make some kind of shade, because if you get sunburn you'll dehydrate even faster," Letty said, running down a mental checklist. "Walking in a desert isn't as bad as something like snow, but if the sand is soft it'll be slow going, and dunes are steep."

"We'll probably end up eating local wildlife… scorpions?" George asked, chuckling at the look of revulsion on Letty's face.

Miss Smoke stopped the van and let them out after about two hours of driving. They were in the middle of a scrubby desert with nothing in sight in any direction except some mountains.

"There are equipment packs in the sand," she barked. "You'll find your briefings inside. Remember, you can fail at any time right up until the end of day one hundred, so don't get complacent." She got back into the van and drove away, sending up a plume of sand from the tyres.

George grabbed one of the packs and pulled his briefing off the top. It was, as he'd predicted, written entirely in Russian.

"How's yours?" he asked.

Letty shrugged. "I can make out some basics. It says we have to go east and use a map to get to an equipment bunker by the end of today, more or less."

George's seemed to say the same thing, and the map was printed on the back. It seemed simple enough; they just had to use a compass and head due east until they reached a dry stream bed, then follow that.

"Let's go," he said, hoisting the pack onto his back.

"Wait, if we should check to see what's in the pack first," Letty said. "We need sunscreen and hats, plus water."

George tipped out his pack and sifted through it. There were some useless items, like an electric heater, and neither of them could see the point of a car battery except to run the heater. They each had a litre bottle of water and a litre of sun cream, but no hats.

"Hats are vital. We need to make some," Letty said.

"I'm all ears, but nothing amongst this lot will make a good hat," George shrugged. "It's all too heavy or not very big."

Letty sighed. "Well, we can use our briefings," she said, looking at the paper. "We don't need to look at the map too much. It's better than burning."

They both covered themselves in sun cream on every exposed area, then set off east. Letty held the compass so George trusted that she would keep them right.

It quickly became obvious that there were three major problems; they had hardly any water to last the day; the sun was ferocious and if they didn't stop often they would get sunburnt; and walking through flat desert in a straight line was extremely boring.

They played games to try and pass the time and keep their minds off the sun. They named things beginning with each letter of the alphabet, they counted alternately up to one thousand and George even taught Letty some basic Russian.

"The map has no scale so I don't know how far is it," Letty said when the sun was at its highest. "There's no shade to be had, so we might as well keep going. If we arrive really early we can just rest some more before going to sleep."

George shook his head. "I read a book once about escaped prisoners of war or something. When they were travelling in the heat, it was best to travel at night or in the morning or evening, then sleep in the middle of the day. I know we've got to move now, but if we can move during the night and get a head start on tomorrow's objective it'll work better."

"Sounds logical. But can we navigate at night?"

"If there's a decent moon, then I suppose so. If it's too dark at night to see where we're going, we'll just go back to plan A and sleep," George said, shrugging.

They reached their equipment bunker before the sun set, both gasping for a drink and feeling the effects of the sun. There was a tank in the bunker, so they each filled their water bottled repeatedly and drained them.

"Okay," George finally said once he'd doused his skin with water and all of his clothes. "So there should be another briefing."

"I've got it," Letty said, pulling it out of a plastic folder and handing George his half. "Seems like another trek tomorrow, similar kind of thing but we've got to follow the stream bed."

"Same here," George said. "It doesn't seem too difficult to do in the dark."

While Letty sat down with the map to work something out, George poked around the bunker to see if there was anything hidden to help them or hurt them. Nothing jumped out, so he went back to covering himself with water.

"George," Letty said, waving him over. "I need you to check this."

"What's up?"

"By comparing the map from today with the map for tomorrow, it looks like they're the same scale. We covered the distance today in I'd guess about seven hours, so it'll be roughly twenty-five miles.

"Marking that distance on tomorrow's map, it looks like it's less than half."

George grabbed the briefing and scanned. "The deadline is sunset tomorrow."

"It's basically sunset now, so we've got twenty-four hours," Letty calculated. "If it's a fifteen hour trip and we set off now…"

"... We'll arrive nine hours ahead of where we are now," George finished. "Which will be mid-morning, probably."

"I think we're supposed to travel at night," Letty smiled. "If you hadn't pointed that out, I would probably have just fallen asleep here and failed."

"Let's go then," George said. "Once we've got enough water, there's no point hanging around."

"What about food?"

"There's energy bars stuffed in the front of the pack. We can eat and walk."


	13. 13: Sand

**13: Sand**

The sheets they had used for shade during the day were hopeless, and once they'd started walking George began to feel the effects of sunburn. His face and neck hurt like he'd pressed them against a hot plate, and his arms were far worse. Letty seemed to be just as bad, and after an hour of walking it became painful even to smear suncream onto the exposed areas.

"Let me do your arms," George offered when Letty dropped the suncream and sniffed back a sob. "It'll hurt, but we need the protection."

She just nodded and bit her lip as George rubbed the cream on as gently as he could, noticing the intense redness on her arms.

"Let's get moving. The sooner we get in the cooler air the better we'll feel," Letty said, putting on a brave face.

Travelling at night was far more pleasant, and halfway down the route they found a structure made of breeze blocks which hid a bowser full of water. They rehydrated and doused their burnt areas before carrying on, watching the sun rise behind some mountains and finally reaching their next checkpoint just as it started to get really hot.

"Day ninety-seven done," George said as they stepped into the cool air of the underground bunker. "Three to go!"

"We're not there yet. Make sure you don't get sand on any tender areas." Letty warned, picking up the briefings before the two of them went for the water tank.

"It says that we have to assemble a… something vehicle?" Letty said, pointing to the word.

George checked it against his own. "No idea, but there's some stuff about travelling to another checkpoint a hundred miles away."

"Fifty miles, yeah… by sun up."

"Eh? Sun up?" George asked, double-checking. "We need to move, if we lie low for five or six hours to avoid the sun we'll only have eighteen hours to travel a hundred miles.

"Okay, let's find this vehicle," Letty said, spotting a cardboard box in the gloom at the back. The two of them dragged it into the light and discovered that it was a lightweight dune buggy.

"Awesome! This'll speed things right up, plus we can fashion hats out of the cardboard," George said, pulling open the box. Letty checked the maps to work out a route while he rooted around, trying not to rub his sore arms on the box's edges.

"Uh, problem," George said.

"Hmm?"

"It's in about a million bits."

"Well, we've got six hours. We'll just follow the instructions."

They made a good team. With the sun up they had plenty of light, but in the shady bunker they were a comfortable temperature with plenty of water. Letty read out instructions and handed George tools or parts while he assembled it. After a while they had something that looked like a buggy, although it took up most of the space in the bunker.

"I won't fit the bodywork until we're ready to go, because it'll be too bulky to get out of the bunker," George said, "But the more I can assemble now the less bolting together it'll take in the hot sun."

The buggy said it had a speed of ten miles per hour on desert terrain, so they decided to wait until the sun was well on its way to the horizon before making a move. It would only take ten hours, maybe eleven if they got lost, so when the shadows in the bunker reached a certain mark George woke Letty, they refilled their water, carried the buggy outside and attached the last few bits.

"Right, it's full of petrol," George said. "Have we got everything?"

"Yeah. You drive, I'll navigate, because the route is a bit fiddly," Letty said.

"Will you be able to see in the dark?"

"The buggy has lights. I'll just use those."

Letty nodded and was about to climb in when she paused and dashed back into the bunker, emerging with two sheets of cardboard.

"These are our hats. Just put your arms through the holes and it should stay on your head," she explained, demonstrating. "Even if it falls off, it'll only slide down your back and you can pull it up."

When it got rolling, the buggy was as good as advertised, maintaining a steady ten miles per hour no matter what they rolled over. It was hardly a comfortable ride, but it was a fast one.

"Left a bit… bit more, that's it," Letty said, keeping George right with her compass. "Try not to drive into any crevasses, it'll probably wreck the buggy."

"Well we're not exactly travelling fast, so if we reach a crevasse I'll see it first," George replied irritably, his eyes aching from concentrating for five hours on two tiny pinpoints of light from the buggy's underpowered headlights.

"Left a bit… perfect."

"What day is it now?" George asked as they bounced off a boulder and carried on.

"If it's past midnight, it's day ninety-eight. seventy-two hours until training is over."

"Not a moment too soon."

Ten hours is a long time to drive for, and when Letty yelled at him to stop next to a bunker, it hurt just to move his eyes.

"I hope we don't have to do anything during the day, I'm knackered," George said, trying to blink away the fatigue as they stepped down into the bunker. He was feeling tired and shaky, which he attributed to lack of sleep and lack of food which wasn't high-glucose energy bars.

"There's food in here," Letty said. "Looks like it's just bread and stuff, but it'll be a change."

George was more interested in the briefing and whether he could sleep. "Deadline is… the end of day one hundred?"

"That's what I've got. From sundown today we'll have roughly fifty-two hours until then," Letty said, reading the briefing which was horribly short. "I think it says we need to go east."

"Yeah, it's east on here."

"I think it says we have to travel… a distance of two hundred miles east from here. There's no checkpoint on the map, so I think we're just supposed to cross an invisible finishing line." Letty said, letting out a gasp. "That's only twenty hours in the buggy, right?"

"Wrong," George said. "It's got a tiny fuel tank. I bet it won't run for more than an hour more, probably less."

"So at walking pace, it'll take us fifty hours," Letty said, re-reading it to make sure she was right. "But that'll be nearly all of the time."

"And we'll be going at the hottest part of the day, without being able to find water," George said. "There's no map, so we won't bump into any helpful water points."

"So basically we've got to walk for more than two days straight without rest or water. That's suicidal," Letty said, starting to get agitated. "Did we get something wrong?"

George shook his head. "Look, what I say is that we sleep through the middle part of the day and rehydrate, then get some good food in us. Later, we'll set off in the buggy and abandon it whenever it runs out of fuel. By going ahead on foot, due east, we'll just see how far we can get. If it's too much and one of us collapses or something, the instructors will come and pull us out."

"But then we'll fail!"

"We don't have much choice. Maybe we'll find another buggy or a tank of petrol. Whatever it is, we have to try."

Once it got dark and the desert started to cool down, they filled up as much water as possible and then got back into the buggy. George had only woken up five minutes before and he wasn't sure he was awake enough to drive, but it was just a straight line. Letty sat in the passenger seat, holding out the compass.

"Ready?" he said, switching on the ignition. "We've not got too long before the petrol runs out, so enjoy the rest."

"Let's go," Letty said, still looking pale.

George pushed down the accelerator and the buggy picked up speed over the sandy terrain, bumping slowly over rocks and plants as it did so.

The ground had a few more ravines in it which made the ride a bit less unpleasant. George was glad he wouldn't be driving for hours over ground like that, and he was just happily thinking about how cool it would be to get a grey shirt when Letty shrieked.

"I've dropped the bloody compass!" she yelled, slamming her hand on the bodywork of the buggy.

"Really?" George said, stamping on the brake too hard. Letty pitched forwards but didn't hit anything.

"Yes… oh God, without it we're screwed."

"Let's go back and look," George suggested, switching off the engine. "It can't be far."

"It's too dark. We're gonna fail for sure," Letty wailed, burying her face in her hands and sobbing noisily.

George left her to it and jumped out of the buggy, trying to scan the ground just behind them. Letty was right; it was too dark to see, and if they spent hours searching they'd almost certainly fail.

"Any bright ideas?" George asked, adopting a hopeful tone as he returned to the buggy.

Letty shrugged. "Not unless you've got another compass."

"I left mine in the sand. Didn't think we'd need two," George said, shaking his head at his stupidity. "Can't believe I was such an idiot."

"It's my fault I dropped the compass," Letty replied bitterly. "We went over a bump and it just flew out of my hand."

The two trainees sat in the buggy, staring hopelessly ahead. George had no idea what to do, and the crippling feeling of having got so close to passing started to weigh on him.

"Can we navigate by the stars or something?" Letty asked, still sounding upset.

"I don't know how," George replied. "We'd probably end up lost. What about if we tried walking in roughly a straight line and when the sun comes up, we'll just find a landmark and stick to it?"

"There's nothing out here. We'd end up having to go round something and ending up walking south."

George wasn't sure how long they sat in silence for. Neither of them could think of anything helpful, and every idea that spun around his head was worse than the last. In the end he got up and stretched his legs just for something to do, standing on the engine block of the buggy and looking around at the stars.

Something caught his eye to the left and he stared at it for a few moments. "Hey, Letty, look over there."

He pointed and Letty followed his gaze. "What is it? I can only see some black outline."

"No, behind that. There's an orange glow."

"So?"

"So, an orange glow means lights, which means people. We can walk in that direction and try to get help." George started to feel excited.

"We're not supposed to interact with anyone else not from CHERUB," Letty replied. "We could fail."

"If we sit here, we'll definitely fail. It's worth a try, right? Anyway, what if the instructors expected us to work this out?" George said, trying to persuade her. "We can drive the first bit in the buggy then walk, it can't take more than five or six hours."

"If we're stuck in some central Asian desert then we won't be able to communicate," Letty replied stubbornly.

"I don't care. I'm going," George said, jumping back into the driving seat and pushing the ignition. "If you wanna wait here, I won't stop you."

Letty didn't go anywhere as George pulled away, pointing the headlights towards the orange glow and hoping that it didn't turn out to be a bushfire or something.

The buggy ran out of petrol after half an hour and they continued on foot, not saying anything. George knew that if his guess turned out to be wrong, Letty would never forgive him and any chance they had of passing training would be gone. He also knew that once it got light, the glow would disappear and they'd have to wait until the sun set again to find it, so the two of them kept up a brisk pace, occasionally stumbling on hidden obstacles in the dark.

Letty was lagging behind a few yards when George reached the top of a rise and took a sharp breath. In the distance were lights which obviously came from a town, and even better there was a long strip across the horizon with tiny dots moving on it which had to be cars.

"A road!" George laughed. "We're saved!"

Even Letty couldn't help smiling when she saw it. "We've still got to find some way of getting a car. We haven't got any money and the people might not even speak English."

The town didn't seem to be very big, but as they approached it was clear that the road was huge. It stretched as far as they could see in each direction and had cars going past all the time. The closer they got, the more sure George was that they'd be able to come up with something.

"In a car we could cover 200 miles in four hours," George said, trying to reassure Letty. "We'd be the only trainees in history to complete training on day ninety-nine."

"Do you think we'll have to steal one?" Letty asked, sounding anxious. "I don't want to end up in a police chase or something."

"Maybe. We'll see what there is," George replied. "Hopefully we'll just find someone willing to give a couple of kids a lift."


	14. 14: Distance

**14: Distance**

The highway was on the near side of the town, so they waited until a break in the traffic and sprinted across, pausing briefly at the central reservation to let a truck blast past before continuing and hurdling the crash barrier on the far side.

"George," Letty said urgently as they paused for breath. "I saw that truck's license plate. I couldn't make it out properly but it looked like a Utah license."

"Huh? Like, American?"

"Yeah."

"I really hope we're in the US," George said, crossing his fingers. "We'll find out in a minute."

It turned out that they were in a town called Battle Mountain in the state of Nevada, USA. George considered kissing the sign, but Letty beat him to it.

"Do you know anything about Battle Mountain?" George asked her.

"I lived in the US until I was five. I have no idea," Letty said, shaking her head at his stupidity. "Anyway, a town of this size, probably nobody knows about it."

When they reached the streets they threw away their odd-looking cardboard hats and walked normally, looking for somewhere they could stop and ask for directions or help. A couple of people gave them odd looks, but they wanted someone with a car, preferably travelling on the highway, so they didn't say anything to them.

"Perfect," Letty said, pointing to the white frontage of a gas station. "People must stop here for gas then rejoin the highway."

"Plus there might be a shop that sells maps," George smiled. "If we can work out where the highway goes, we can ask for a lift."

Two ten-year-olds covered in dust from the desert and carrying military-style packs stood out in a sleepy town, so they cut through a scrubby patch instead of walking straight up to the gas station. George got down onto his stomach and poked his head out from behind some bushes.

"Hmm. Looks like there are a couple of cars there. There's a shop of some kind, looks big enough to have a map," he said. "If we wait until it's day time, we could probably sneak into a car and steal it, but when it's so dead here we've got no chance."

"I doubt if a tiny place like this ever gets busier," Letty said. "We've gotta chance it in the shop."

"You do the talking since you've got the accent. Stick to the backstory and say we got lost or something," George told her, pulling his head back and brushing dust off his shirt.

"Sure thing. You look for a map while I distract the clerk," Letty said, jumping to her feet and giving him a quick thumbs-up before strolling towards the gas station shop. George followed her a few moments later, wishing there wasn't so much sand in his boxers.

"Can I help?" the clerk asked as Letty pushed the door open. He was a middle-aged man, overweight, and George guessed that he probably owned the gas station. Letty walked up to the counter while he cut behind a rack of sweets and headed for a row of bright red road atlases.

"Um, we're on an adventure trip with our church group, but we've got separated from them and we're lost," Letty said, looking pitiful and faking a sob. "We've walked for ages."

The clerk seemed sympathetic and ran his eyes over the redness of Letty's arms and face. "Oh, that's too bad! Are you camping or something? You've got all the gear."

"Yeah, we're camping. Do you think anyone would be able to give us a ride?"

"Depends where you're going."

George grabbed the most prominent map and scanned it. There was a lot of desert, and it took him a few nervous seconds to find the tiny dot marked 'Battle Mountain', which had a petrol pump icon next to it, along with a bed which he assumed meant hotel. The highway ran east-west, a red line cutting across the entire map. George followed it east.

"Um, I can't remember what the town is called," Letty said, sounding obviously suspicious. She covered up by bursting into a fresh round of tears, which sent the clerk looking for a box of tissues.

George unfolded the map a bit more. He didn't know the scale but he had to find somewhere a long way away so they'd pass training. He sighed with relief when he spotted the highway running directly to Salt Lake City in the east. It only took a second to shove the map back onto the shelf and go to Letty's rescue.

"We need to get to Salt Lake City," George said in his best American accent, convinced it sounded crappy.

"Salt Lake City? Hard name to forget," the clerk said with a chuckle.

"It's actually a town just near Salt Lake, but we can probably get a bus or something from there," Letty said, giving George a grateful smile. "Do you think anyone is going that way?"

The clerk laughed again, handing Letty a wodge of paper napkins. "Honey, everyone is heading that way. Just sit tight for an hour and someone'll be along."

As they waited, George skimmed through the rest of the maps. According to the scale, it was about four hundred miles to Salt Lake City, so they'd cross the finishing line with east. Plus, Salt Lake City was huge so it'd be easy to blend in. George was starting to feel more confident as Letty chatted with the clerk, asking about his family to try and keep the conversation away from why they were wandering in the desert.

Whenever someone came in to pay for their gas, the clerk asked where they were going and the majority said either San Francisco or Salt Lake City. Whenever it was the latter, the clerk asked if they'd give a lift to two kids, but everyone said no.

"Probably don't want to get their seats all dirty," the clerk said after a couple driving a pickup truck shook their heads and shuffled out of the door. "You two have desert all over ya."

They finally got lucky when a woman almost as dirty as they were walked in, her shoulder-length red hair trapped beneath a tatty baseball cap.

"Where ya headed?" the clerk asked, taking a stack of bills from the lady and counting them out.

"Salt Lake City. Hopin' to get there before mornin'," she replied in a thick drawl, sounding tired. "Meetin' some family over there."

George looked over at her, feeling hopeful, but he noticed a bulge in the back of her jeans that was obviously a pistol and he suddenly had a change of heart.

"Got a couple of kids here who'd appreciate a ride if you're feeling generous," the clerk said, jerking a thumb towards Letty.

"Sure. Be nice ta have some company," the woman replied, looking around at George. "You headed somewhere specific?"

"Just the bus station or something," Letty replied. "Don't matter too much."

"No problem," the woman said, taking her change from the clerk. "Grab yer stuff and we'll get goin'. Oh, and find something to put on those burns, they'll sting like the devil otherwise."

George hurried over to the clerk as the woman stepped out of the shop. "She's got a gun… do you think it's safe?" His accent sounded terrible.

"Yeah boy. Lots of women travelling alone take a gun, just in case. It's probably her boyfriend's and she's never fired it before or something." The clerk smiled. "You're not likely to get another good chance like this." He picked up a cream from under the counter and pushed it across to George. "It's for the sunburn. If you rub this in, it'll help with the stinging and stop it blistering."

"Thanks," George replied, smiling and grabbing his pack as he followed Letty towards the door.

They walked towards her car, a sedan that was gigantic by British standards but average for the US. Letty leaned close.

"Drop the accent, it's crappy," she smiled. "Just say you moved here with your mom and dad."

George laughed. "Sure thing!"

"I'm Sandy," the woman said as the two kids got comfortable in the back of the car and began covering their arms and faces with the cream. "You've gotta tell me all about how you ended up in that gas station, I'm dyin' to know."

"I'm Leticia and this is George," Letty said politely. "How long is it until we arrive?"

"Four hours? Maybe five, I don't know, but we've got a full tank of gas so it don't matter."

George marvelled at Letty's energy and she launched into their backstory. He was already feeling exhausted but she seemed as alert as ever. While she told Sandy the ins and outs of their church camping trip to Nevada, he checked the mileometer and made a note of the last three digits. When they'd gone two hundred miles they would pass training and he could activate the GPS signal in his pack to tell the instructors to come and pick them up when they got to Salt Lake City. With nothing to do but wait, he rearranged some stuff in the pack and used it as a pillow, avoiding his sore neck, watching lights going past the window and letting the sound of Letty and Sandy's conversation lull him to sleep.

It was light when he woke up. The sky was grey out of the window, and when he sat up and worked the kinks out of his back and noted how his sunburn was subsiding, he stared at the surroundings. There were in some kind of shopping mall car park with signs advertising cheap clothing and electronics dotted around. Letty and Sandy were nowhere to be seen, but the keys were sitting on the seat next to him so he assumed they were somewhere nearby. Unconcerned, he realised he was bursting for a wee, so he jumped out and hurried over to a concrete bollard, feeling relief as a puddle formed at the base.

He had to stay with the car, so when he was empty he jogged back to the car and sat on the bonnet, enjoying the fresh air. There were no signs telling him where they were, and the mall was just called 'Double Oak', so he just waited for the girls to get back.

They returned with cardboard cartons containing breakfast. Letty had got him a double bacon bagel and iced tea, which he'd never tried before.

"What time is it?" he asked, shuffling up to let Letty sit next to him.

"Six o'clock in the morning," she replied, stifling a yawn. "We were on the road for four hours."

"Blimey. So where did we get to?"

Sandy smiled. "Well, we're about fifteen minutes outside central Salt Lake City. I asked the man in the breakfast place where the bus station is and got directions for ya."

"Sandy's gonna drop us there and we'll work out which bus to get," Letty added. "Should be pretty easy."

"Sounds good," George said, finishing his mouthful of bacon. "Did you get any sleep?"

Letty opened her mouth to reply but Sandy interrupted with a machine-gun laugh.

"This little lady can talk like nobody else I ever met. I practically told her my life story!" she grinned, gulping down coffee. "Like the daughter I never had."

Letty blushed. "I was going to sleep once we arrived."

"We'll get movin' when y'all are done with yer breakfast. I'm seeing some cousins I don't rightly like much, so I'm in no hurry, but I guess there'll be some adults worryin' about y'all," Sandy said, smiling. "Gotta say, I didn't expect the trip to be this interestin'."

It was only after George had polished off the bagel and was halfway through draining his iced tea, which it turned out he liked, when it occurred to him that since they were in Salt Lake City, they had to have passed training. When Sandy ambled off to find the toilets, he grinned at Letty.

"No more training, right?" he said, punching the air. "Grey shirts here we come, and it's only day ninety-nine."

Letty smiled, but she looked tired. "That's if the instructors don't kick us out of CHERUB for talking to the public."

"Nah, we used initiative and stuff. They'll lap it up," George replied.

"After Sandy drops us at the bus station, we'll activate our GPS transmitters then find a payphone. Sandy let me use her phone's internet in the car and I've got a number for the British consulate in the city."

"Nice one," George said, realising that he'd given no thought to what they were going to do from now on. He was glad Letty was on the ball.

"If we can, I'll try and call the CHERUB line and get them to book us into a hotel or something," Letty added, "But without any money, I'm not sure how we'll be able to do that."

"We'll work something out," George replied. "Worst case, we'll just sit in some park until Kazakov comes to collect us."


	15. 15: Goal

**15: Goal**

"Are you sure you kids will be okay?" Sandy asked, pulling on the handbrake as they pulled up outside the central bus station.

"We'll be okay," Letty replied, leaning between the two front seats and smiling. "Thanks so much for giving us a ride."

"It's been fun," Sandy said, laughing a little. "Are you sure you kids will be okay on your own?"

"Yeah, it's just a bus ride," Letty lied, doing her best to hide the deception. "Should be no problem."

"Well, if y'all are sure. I'll be getting on my way."

Letty and George climbed out of the car, grabbing their their belongings and stepping onto the pavement just beneath a sign for the bus station. For half a second it looked as if Sandy was going to pull away, but she paused and wound down the window.

"Here, take this," she said, holding out a sheet of paper. Letty grabbed it.

"It's my cell number. If you get stranded, give me a call." She smiled kindly and George smiled back, waving a little.

"Bye Sandy, thanks," Letty said, stepping clear of the car as Sandy put it into gear and finally pulled away, indicating before merging with the traffic and disappearing around the corner of the block.

"Freedom!" George said, grinning triumphantly. "I can practically taste that grey shirt."

Letty shook her head but couldn't hide her smile. "If we can find a phone, we'll be all set."

They walked in the general direction of the consulate, hoping that the people there would give them assistance if nobody else would. They paused outside a shabby launderette and Letty went inside to ask about a phone while George dug out a GPS transmitted from his bag. It was the size of a shirt button, but when he pressed down on it a radio signal was given out that would alert the instructors to where they were. Salt Lake City was over two hundred miles from their planned training zone, but George guessed it would only take them four or five hours by helicopter or car to come and collect them.

"The owner says we can use her phone," Letty said, beckoning George to come inside.

George was happy to allow Letty to do the talking since her accent blended in better, but when they got to the phone Letty handed him the handset.

"You ring. I'll keep the laundress busy," she explained, and George was impressed because he'd never heard the word 'laundress' before.

Letty got chatting to her fellow American while George entered the country code for the United Kingdom and then CHERUB's agent contact number.

"Unicorn Tyre Repair, how can I help?"

"It's George Knight," George began, but during training they'd been told to give their agent number and he hadn't been assigned one yet.

"George Knight?" the person on the line repeated, sounding suspicious.

"Uh, yeah, I don't have an agent number but I'm trainee number five at the moment."

There was a pause and the sound of a keyboard. George was nervous because he didn't want the laundress to overhear anything, but the longer he stayed on the phone, the more likely she was to come and ask what was going on. With a jolt, he remembered that they'd swapped numbers at the start of basic training and the staff at CHERUB might not know. He was about to launch into an explanation when he got a response.

"Can you confirm where you're calling from?"

"A launderette in Salt Lake City, Utah."

Clearly the operator on campus didn't expect people to accidentally ring a British number from a launderette four thousand miles away, so he got the benefit of the doubt.

"What's the problem, George? Has something happened during the exercise?"

George smiled. "We've sort of accidentally ended up in Salt Lake City when the instructors are expecting us to be two hundred miles away."

"Accidentally," the operator repeated with what sounded like a knowing tone. "Are you out of contact with the instructors?"

"I've activated our GPS transmitters, but it'll take them a few hours to get here and I'm sunburnt and probably dehydrated. Could you get us into a hotel or something?"

"Our links in the US are not particularly good when it comes to sneaking ten-year-olds into hotels when you're expected to be eighteen to check-in," the operator said, typing something on her keyboard. "But, a retired agent lives two miles outside the city. I'll give her a ring and see if she wouldn't mind taking you in for an afternoon."

They had to wait in the car park of a bustling shopping mall ten minutes away. They didn't have any money to buy anything with, so it was almost torture looking at the rows of shops selling breakfast waffles, electronics and designer clothes for a fraction of the price they were in the UK.

When the red Ford they'd been looking out for pulled into a space, they hopped off a low wall and walked over. When the operator had said 'retired agent', George was expecting them to be a white-haired pensioner, but the reality was a smartly-dressed man in his twenties who waved as they approached.

"Looks like you must be the right guys," he said in a distinct British accent as they got close. "No other ten-year-olds around here would be so dusty."

George hadn't seen his reflection properly since the start of basic training, so he just shrugged.

"I'm Sam. Come on, I'll take you back to my house. It's only a fifteen minute drive."

For security reasons, George and Letty weren't supposed to discuss details of anything with Sam, but he'd been a CHERUB and he couldn't resist asking a few questions about how things had changed.

"In my day we had a guy called Mr Large. He was a right nasty piece of work, loved putting kids through the grinder," Sam laughed as they pulled out onto a wider road and picked up speed. "Must be cushy for you now if he's gone."

George wasn't sure he'd describe Kazakov's yelling as cushy. "Kazakov can be pretty tough," he replied defensively.

"I'm sure. Good to hear standards haven't slipped. So, how come I've got you two here? Usually training is tightly-controlled."

"They were trying a wilderness exercise," Letty replied. "We got lost and hitched a lift here when he found a nearby town."

"Initiative, huh? Sounds like you're doing okay. Gotta say, CHERUB were the last people I was expecting a call from when I sat down in my office this morning," he grinned. "Thought I'd got into some trouble or something."

"What do you do?" George asked, intrigued by the ex-CHERUB.

"I work for one of the banks in the city. Got a job right after I graduated from Yale," Sam explained. "Banking can be really stressful, so while it can be boring at times it's not too removed from the stresses of undercover work."

"Do you ever go back to CHERUB?" George asked. He'd only been on campus for two months and had next to no idea what retired agents did.

"Not since I graduated. I sometimes go back over to the UK on business trips and look up my friends, though."

Sam lived by himself in a reasonably-sized house just outside the city, so he gave them free run of the bathroom and kitchen while he made some phone calls to smooth over his absence from work.

George was more interested in microwaving burritos than washing, so Letty went first, bizarrely choosing to belt out a version of 'Happy Birthday to me' as she showered. George cracked up laughing and took a bite out of a too-hot burrito, rapidly spitting it back out on the plate before carrying it through to the lounge where Sam was finished with his calls and had some football on the television.

"Make yourself at home," Sam said, shifting some cushions around. "You can watch whatever you like. I have no idea what stuff is on for kids."

George was too chilled to care very much. "I didn't think they really played football over here?"

"Oh, it's a replay of a game from a couple of days ago. The local team is Real Salt Lake," Sam explained. "Not really up to the standard of the Premier League."

George shrugged. "Doesn't look it."

"The lady from campus reckoned it'd be about four hours until the instructors get here," Sam said, shrugging. "I'd normally say I could take you to a park or whatever, but we're supposed to lie low. I could probably explain you as my cousin's kids or something, but CHERUB wants to be extra-careful."

"I don't mind," George replied. "I'll probably have another one of these burritos and then a shower."

"Whatever you want. CHERUB is paying double my day's pay to look after you, and I work in a bank so my pay is pretty generous to begin with," Sam laughed.

"Is that a PlayStation?" George asked, spotting the black case underneath a fancy DVD player.

Sam grinned. "Yup. I don't have much to do on my days off. Fancy playing?"

By the time Letty had finished her forty-five minute shower and made herself some waffles, Sam had shown George the basics of Madden NFL and they were absorbed in a game.

"Any chance of something not related to sports?" Letty smiled as she slid onto the sofa beside George.

"Yeah, I'll go and grab a shower if you're done," George said, pausing the game and getting up. "Don't need to stink if I don't have to."

"You can change the channel," Sam said, handing Letty the remote as George headed for the shower. "When George is done, there's some after sun cream in the cabinet that you can use."

When both kids were showered and had treated their burns, George was keen for another go on Madden, but Letty overruled him and they watched a DVD. They mostly talked over it, letting Sam catch up with the latest from campus, including the change of chairman which George didn't even know about. Sam reminisced fondly about which teachers gave out the harshest punishments and which ones were easy to get on with, then told them a story of how he'd accidentally set fire to a shower curtain during a wild party and doused it in the campus fountain, earning a hundred-lap punishment and a hefty fine.

A black car with tinted windows pulled up to the front of the house, causing both Cherubs to jump up and grab their bags.

"Have nice lives," Sam said, giving both of them a half-smile. "Be careful on missions, though. There was a girl who got stabbed back when I was an agent and she was never really the same again."

The sombre warning wasn't the right note to leave on, so George just grinned. "Well, agents these days are much tougher, so don't worry," he said cheekily before shaking Sam's outstretched hand.

Letty smiled and shook his hand too. "Thanks for letting us use your shower and everything."

"No problem. Have a safe trip back."

Kazakov was inside the car so Letty and George hurried to jump in, pausing only to wave goodbye before Kazakov put the car into reverse and swung out onto the quiet road.

"I'm driving us back to a rendezvous about a hundred and fifty miles back into the desert, so you'd better get comfortable," he growled. His tone seemed unhappy and George and Letty shrivelled into the leather seats, feeling a creeping sensation that their training might not be complete after all.


	16. 16: Grey

**16: Grey**

Kazakov lined the six remaining trainees up in a patch of sand, packs on their backs and standing at attention. George was pleased that Rex and Jemima seemed to have done okay and were dusty but apparently unscathed. The missing trainee was Ralph, leaving Beatrice standing on her own, sweating with the weight of her equipment on her back.

"So, day one hundred, hm?" Kazakov said, shaking his head. "Take a look at each other and see what you notice."

George looked around. He noticed that the other four trainees seemed to have suffered a lot less from sunburn than he and Letty had, but apart from that he wasn't sure what Kazakov was getting at. The instructors' questions were often a trap so George kept his mouth shut.

"Suzuki, you tell us," Kazakov barked at Jemima.

"Five and six are clean, sir?"

"Correct!" Kazakov declared, giving George and Letty an evil look. "These two have been relaxing with air conditioning and showers while the rest of us have suffered in the desert. They almost look comfortable."

The skin was peeling from George's forehead and he felt like anything but comfortable, but he said nothing, hoping that Kazakov didn't have anything too difficult in mind.

"So, you've all completed the survival course and there are only a few hours left until the end of training," Kazakov continued, waving an arm in the direction of the setting sun. "I expect that you're wondering where your grey shirts are."

Nobody said anything, George noticed a couple of nervous faces out of the corner of his eye.

"The good news is that you'll have your shirts and we'll be on the way to the airport in an hour. The bad news is that the shirts are an hour's walk away, along with your rides to the airport," Kazakov explained. "The truck leaves in fifty-nine minutes. If you want to get a shirt, I suggest you start following the dry stream bed immediately."

All six trainees set off, but Kazakov laid a giant hand on George and Letty's shoulders.

"For you two, there's some more bad news," he said, sucking in air between his teeth as the other four disappeared at a jog. "Firstly, since you two are so well-rested, you get to wait here with me for half an hour."

George tried calculating in his head. They'd probably have to run the whole way, but they could ditch their equipment and it would be cool in the desert at night. A half-hour run was really nothing too difficult, and even if it was hard to navigate, the others would have worked it out already and left them clues like footprints.

"Secondly, there are only five grey shirts in the bag," Kazakov revealed with a grin. "Last one there gets to restart from day one."

The half-hour wait was torture. Kazakov wouldn't let them talk, so they sat in silence, contemplating. George came to realise that he would have to play the gentleman and give Letty the final shirt, otherwise he'd never live it down on campus. Stealing a grey shirt from a girl would haunt him for the rest of his career as an agent. The thought of having to restart made him feel miserable, and he directed his anger towards Kazakov. It was totally unfair to fail him just because they'd taken the initiative. Getting the lift was probably actually better training for real missions than a trek in the desert, but Kazakov didn't seem at all interested. The more George thought about it, the more he felt like he wanted to cry, but he didn't want to cry in front of a girl.

"Okay five and six, off you go," Kazakov said, looking at his watch. "I'm taking the car on a longer route so don't try following."

George jumped to his feet and followed Letty as she threw down her pack except for a bottle of water and began running the route of the dry stream bed. Without the equipment it was easy to run, but George paced himself once he'd caught up with his partner.

"George, look. I dropped the compass which was the thing that made us get lost in the first place. It's only fair for me to restart training," Letty said with a determined expression. "I only turned ten in January anyway, so I'll have passed before I turn eleven."

George couldn't argue with her logic and part of him filled with excitement at the idea of passing training, but he kept a level head.

"No, Letty, you've gotta take the shirt. If I'm the guy who pushed a girl out of passing, I'll never be allowed to forget it," he explained. "Dropping the compass was an accident and without you, we would never have been able to get the lift and everything. You'll make a much better agent than me."

Letty slowed to a halt, surprising George who skidded to a stop and looked at her.

"George, if you won't take the shirt, I'm going to stay here. If I don't get to the end, nobody will blame you for getting the shirt."

"I'm not finishing training without my partner," George replied stubbornly.

"Well I'm not going unless you agree to take the shirt," Letty told him, shaking her head.

"Let's go together. If we get there at the same time, then we'll both have passed. We can talk about the shirt later," George tried.

"I suppose. I don't want to miss the truck to the airport," Letty replied, sighing before setting off again, George close behind.

The checkpoint was just a metal bin in the middle of the desert, but they were able to spot it because of the huge truck parked next to it. George guessed that it had all of the equipment they'd used during the exercise in it.

Letty slowed down at they got close, her eyes on George. He was expecting her to fake an injury or something to leave him with no choice, so he acted first.

"Look, if there's only one shirt, it's not fair for either of us to take it. We're partners, since the start, so if we restart it should be together," George said, giving her an encouraging smile. "We're sure to pass the second time round."

Letty gave him a grateful look. "Okay, that makes sense. Shake on it?"

George couldn't help smile as he shook her hand, and they jogged over to the bin together, where the other four trainees were waiting, wearing grey shirts.

Harry was stood next to the bin with an anxious look as George and Letty approached.

"I'm really sorry," he said, pointing inside. "There's only one shirt in there."

"Kazakov told us," George explained, pulling up next to the bin and crouching down to rest. "We've decided to leave it and restart training."

Letty nodded, downing the remains of her water. "It's not fair for either of us to take it."

Harry looked shocked at their resolve, but he just shrugged. "The truck is leaving in a minute, so you might as well get in. There's air conditioning and loads of water and snacks and stuff."

George and Letty followed him over to the truck, tired from the run. The idea of having to re-do training made George feel slightly nauseous, but it was overwhelmed by his want for a long sleep and a huge dinner on campus. He sank into one of the seats at the back and slumped down, pausing only to drink half a litre of water before he shut his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he opened his eyes again, not sure if he'd been sleeping. The truck was moving but it was still dark, and he looked up at the large frame of Instructor Kazakov.

"Present," he said with a uncharacteristic smile. He handed over a polythene bag, which George tore into to discovered a grey t-shirt displaying the CHERUB logo in the centre. Letty was sat across the aisle, happily pulling her equivalent over her head.

"I am amazed that you two managed what you did. I've trained some fantastic agents and most of them wouldn't have succeeded," he said. "We wanted to make you sweat a little at the end there, but you managed to stick it out and behaved admirably. An outstanding performance."

George felt himself blushing at the compliment, but he stifled it and looked over at Letty, who had tears on her cheeks.

"Thanks, sir," George said, receiving a crunching handshake. "I have a question though."

"Go ahead."

"How were we supposed to pass the final exercise? Once the buggy was out of petrol we could have walked, but we would probably have passed out from the heat or something."

"It was only two hundred kilometres. You could have rested in the hot part of the day and still made it, plus if you'd stayed on track there was a planned parachute drop of supplies."

Letty threw George a look. "You said it was two hundred miles, not kilometres."

George laughed. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who read the briefing."

Before he could react, Letty threw her empty water bottle at him and it bounced off his nose painlessly. "It was you! I can't believe you!"

Kazakov learnt forwards. "I may not be able to take those shirts back, but if you throw anything else in my direction I will ensure your first months as an agent are as miserable as possible," he said with a sinister look, but when he turned and strolled back towards the front of the truck George caught a glimpse of a slight smile on his face.

In the end, they drove to Salt Lake City airport to catch a commercial flight back to the UK. They had to wait until the morning, so the Cherubs slept in the departure lounge while Miss Smoke supervised and drank strong coffee. Kazakov had disappeared, claiming he hated American airports, and George suspected he'd gone to find alcohol somewhere.

"I'm really glad we both passed," Letty said, waking George up from a light snooze as light began streaming through the giant glass windows.

"Me too," George replied. He'd fallen asleep sitting upright and his neck ached, but he was surprised to find Letty's head resting in his lap. She was lying along the row of chairs, her discarded boots sitting on the floor next to his feet. George couldn't remember her falling asleep like that but he'd been dozing on and off all night.

"I was dreading doing training again," Letty continued, sitting up and stretching.

George got up and rubbed his dead leg, glancing at the departures board. It was half an hour until their plane left so it wouldn't be long until it opened for boarding. "If I sleep until we get the connecting flight in Atlanta, will that leave me jet-lagged?" he wondered out loud, too groggy to work it out.

"Probably," Letty said, sliding her feet into her boots. "It's already one in the afternoon in the UK, so if you sleep for the next few hours it'll be like getting up at four or something."

"Looks like I need to try staying awake," George replied, scratching his stomach. "I can't wait to get rid of this awful sand. It's everywhere."

"Tell me about it. I'm going to have a really long bath in my new room and get rid of every single bit," Letty agreed. "En-suite here we come!"

George had forgotten about moving to the main building now he had passed training. "I hope there are some free rooms on the eighth floor. Those are the ones with balconies, plus they're pretty new."

"I don't care as long as I don't have to share baths any more. Five years is too long to put up with idiots," Letty replied. "You're lucky, you've only had to put up with it for two months."

"I feel your pain," George chuckled. "Now you'll just have to put up with loud music and people staying up all night."


	17. 17: Revenge

**17: Revenge**

When they arrived back on campus, there was a small welcoming party. Ed, broken leg now healed, and Ralph, who had casts on both arms, were waiting, giving out hugs and fist bumps to the trainees who had passed.

"Buggy hit a ditch," Ralph explained. "Trice was small enough that she got thrown out safely, but I hit the steering wheel and fractured both arms. Still, I'll have Ed here to get me through training next time," he grinned, grabbing the other boy in a headlock.

Ed squirmed and tried to get free. "Get off you fat lump! I hope I don't get stuck with you in training, you'll beat me in karate by sitting on me."

George left them to their scuffling and went over to see Rex. He'd felt guilty when they'd got off the plane, because he'd spent the majority of the trip sitting with Letty even though Rex was supposed to be his best friend. Rex could hold a grudge and he was hoping that the excitement of moving into new rooms would calm him down enough to let an apology sink in.

When George sighted his friend's tall figure, he was hugging a smaller girl around the waist and lifting her into the air. When he put her down, George noticed some family resemblance.

"I didn't know you had a sister," George said as he approached, smiling at the girl. "You could've told me."

"There wasn't a good moment," Rex said apologetically. "I knew your mum had just died but I didn't want to reopen old wounds if you'd lost other family too."

George shrugged. "Still could've told me." He turned to look at the little girl, who was holding Rex's hand and looking up at him. "Who're you?"

"I'm Kimberley and I'm nine," she said proudly, pointing to her red shirt. "I only just joined CHERUB," she added, looking up at Rex. "I had to finish the term at school first."

"Kimberley went to this really prestigious school. She's like a kind of genius brainbox or something," Rex explained. "You're not allowed to just up and leave in the middle of the term so CHERUB let her stay until the holidays before pulling her out."

"You definitely look smarter than your brother," George told her with a grin.

Kimberley had classes so she had to go back, leaving Rex with George as they made their way back to the Junior Block.

"I'm glad you passed, mate," George said, shaking his head. "We were all convinced that you and Jemima were gonna kill each other."

Rex's eyes narrowed. "I can't believe the instructors set me up with that cow."

"I thought you two got on now?"

"I hate her stupid guts and I've been hiding my feelings for weeks," Rex replied angrily. "I hope I never see her ever again."

"Bit harsh," George replied, amazed that Rex had been capable of passing training while he still hated his partner. "Anyway, if we hurry we'll get rooms on the eighth floor and be away from her."

One of the groundstaff let them borrow a buggy to cart their belongings to the main building, and since they were both fairly new to CHERUB they didn't have too much stuff and only needed one trip.

"Come on," George said impatiently as the lift crawled up to the eighth floor. "If we don't get there fast they'll all be gone."

The two of them practically sprinted out of the lift, but there was only one room with a 'vacant' sign taped to the door and Harry was busily moving his stuff into the room.

"Balls," George said, making a u-turn back to the lift. "Sixth or seventh?"

"Seventh. The agents on the sixth floor are all older than us so they'll constantly be having parties," Rex said, pressing the button for the seventh floor as soon as George had cleared the doors.

George didn't mind the idea of being invited to parties by older agents, but he said nothing as the lift made a short trip and then opened the doors onto an identical corridor.

"What d'you reckon?" George asked as he scanned. There were a fair number of vacant rooms, which meant that the agents moving in over the next couple of years would be his age. "Looks good to me."

"Want to be neighbours?" Rex suggested, pointing to a pair of rooms at the far end of the corridor. "I hear the end rooms are slightly bigger, too."

"Bagsy that one, then," George grinned, jogging down the corridor and claiming the end one for his own. Rex disappeared into the next door room, letting out a gasp which George mirrored a few seconds later.

The room didn't seem any larger than all the rest, but there was a double bed in the corner with a sofa opposite and a desk in the window with a boxed laptop sitting on it. George dumped his bags on the bed and stepped into the en-suite, taking a longing look at the modern shower and the fluffy towels on the rail. The best part was the flat-screen TV on the wall beyond the end of his bed, and George flicked it on. The BBC News channel came up, but it appeared to have plenty of other channels. He found a programme about monster trucks and was about to get drawn into it when he heard some voices outside and he decided to be a good neighbour and see if they needed any help.

"Hello?" he asked, sticking his head into the corridor. There seemed to be no-one about, but the door opposite his opened and Letty appeared, a big smile on her face.

"Are these rooms awesome or what?" she asked, waving him over.

Her room was identical to his but with everything the mirror image, and George smiled. Letty was already running a shower and she'd dumped vastly more stuff on her bed than he had.

"It's cool that you live opposite," she said, sitting on her sofa just because she could. "You'd better not be too noisy."

"I'll do my best," George smirked, looking out of the window. Her room backed onto the front drive and had a view of the fountain, while his looked over the all-weather pitches and the back of campus.

"We can hang out whenever," Letty said, giving him a gentle shove in the back, "But I want a long soak in the bath now so could you please go away."

George moved to shove her back, but she spun out of his reach. "Fine. Give me a shout if you want a hand unpacking."

As he stepped back into the corridor, he spotted Jemima moving into the room next-door to Letty's.

"Hey," he said, deciding to be friendly. "I'm opposite Letty."

"Cool," she said, dropping her things outside her new door. "You're George, right?"

"Yeah, Jemima?" George knew that they'd barely spoken during training and things should be frosty, but their cool new rooms and being qualified agents at last had put everyone in a good mood and Jemima seemed to have no hard feelings.

"You can call me Jem or something if you want," Jemima replied, scratching her back.

"What do you prefer?"

Letty appeared from her door. "She likes to be called Puddleduck."

Jemima gave her a glare and she disappeared again. George held in his laugh to avoid her wrath, but he couldn't resist a dig.

"I'll stick to calling you Ducky," he replied, turning and running for the safety of his room before she could grab him.

After a shower and changing into clean clothes, George baulked at the idea of unpacking everything and went to chill with Rex instead.

"You know that Jemima lives opposite you, right?" he said, smirking as Rex looked up with pain written all over his face.

"I'll have to see her all the time," he said unhappily. "Every morning we'll end up in the lift together or something."

"You should just make up with her," George suggested, sitting on Rex's bed. "I actually really like Letty."

Rex was the jealous type and he shot George a look. "Yeah, I noticed you two getting on really well on the plane back."

"What? I can't have other friends?"

Rex smiled. "You fancy her."

"Get real. She's just a friend," George replied, shaking his head, but Rex wasn't going to give up.

"Nope, you two are gonna get married and have kids and spend your time kissing and everything," he laughed. "George and Letticia, sitting in a tree…"

George was annoyed. "Well, that's better than having a girl who can kick your butt living opposite," he said smugly, conveniently ignoring the fact that Letty could beat him in a fight.

This got Rex riled up. "You know," he said, angry again, "I'm gonna get her back."

"Don't bother. If you do something you'll only get punished, and probably suspended from missions."

"No, you know what?"

"What?"

"When she goes out, I'm gonna crack her door open and trash the place. Yeah, they'll punish me, but it'll only be laps and a fine. Nothing compared to having your new room wrecked." The look on Rex's face was disturbingly happy and George backed away.

"I don't want any part in this," he said. "I'm not planning to get into trouble if i don't have to, and anyway, she was friendly to me earlier."

"I don't care what you do," Rex replied, shaking his head. "I thought we were friends."

"You're not blackmailing me into this," George said, heading for the door. "I'll see you at dinner, I've gotta unpack."

Rex wasn't at dinner, so George sat with the others he'd trained with plus a couple of extra friends they knew. It was weird being back having meals in the cafeteria, but George had missed the atmosphere and now he had a grey shirt, it was cool sitting with his group of friends and feeling confident instead of terrified of training.

"I've got a room down the corridor from you guys," Beatrice said, devouring macaroni cheese. "There's nothing on the sixth floor at the moment, so it looks like most of the new agents will be moving in on the seventh."

"Losers," Harry grinned. "My balcony is the best!"

George shook his head and tutted. "You'll be begging to move in on the seventh when we're having a party and you're not invited."

With no sign of Rex, George was sure that he was causing trouble. He considered going and telling his handler, but he hadn't actually met his new handler yet and snitching just wasn't the done thing. He didn't tell Jemima either, because if she found out that he knew about it and didn't stop Rex she'd get angry too. Instead he just ate his chocolate mousse and decided that so long as it didn't result in him having to run laps, he would survive.

Letty and Jemima departed to go and finish unpacking, so George deliberately hung back and scraped out his bowl.

"What're you stalling for?" Ed asked when it was obvious that George was just sat around like a lemon. "Aren't you gonna go and sleep or something?"

George wasn't tired because of the jet lag, so he just shrugged. "Don't feel like it."

"Is your room so bad that you'd rather sit in the cafeteria?" Ed laughed.

"Rex is getting revenge on Jemima for that fight they had, so I'd rather stay here and avoid the fireworks," George explained.

Ed grinned. "There might be another fight as this rate."

"Probably will be," George sighed. "I just don't wanna be the one breaking it up."

"You better had," Harry said. "Who knows what kind of beating Jemima's gonna give him?"

Resigned to his fate, George made his way back to the seventh floor and sauntered down to the far end. His door, he was relieved to find, was still shut tight, but there was stuff spilling out of Jemima's into the corridor and Rex's door showed every sign of being kicked inwards.

"George!" Letty said urgently, grabbing his shirt and dragging him into the room. "Rex is locked in the bathroom."

Jemima's face was bright red and she was shaking with rage.

"If you don't come out of there right now I'm gonna kick the door in," she screamed. There was no reply, so she stepped back and launched a karate kick, denting the door but not breaking the lock.

"Come on, you'll only have to pay for the damage," George said gently, but Jemima turned on him.

"Damage? He's completely wrecked all of my stuff! My entire room is a mess! This little gutless idiot has ruined all of my things and he's too scared to own up to it," she yelled before launching another kick, this time breaking the door. It smacked open and Jemima leapt in, narrowly avoiding Letty's despairing grab at her.

Rex was in a combat stance next to the toilet, but Jemima was beyond mercy. She dodged his kick and slammed him into the wall before grabbing his arm and throwing him to the floor, both of his legs cracking painfully against the edge of the bath.

"She's gonna kill him," Letty said in a shrill voice.

"You grab Rex, I'll get Jemima," George replied, muscling in and avoiding a wild punch before getting his arms around Jemima's waist and tilting her into the bath. She lost purchase on the slippery surface and toppled over, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the tiles. Letty grabbed Rex's collar and pulled him out of the room, twisting his arm painfully so he couldn't struggle.

"What the hell is this noise?" an adult voice shouted from the doorway.

George squared up against Jemima, but she had gone into full-on crying mode and was in no mood to hit him, and by the time the handler looked into the en-suite, George had his arm around her and she was crying into his t-shirt.


	18. 18: Punishment

**18: Punishment**

In his two months on campus, George had come to find that even if you have good intentions, the strict discipline usually caught up with you. So he found himself sitting in the office of his new handler on the third floor.

"This wasn't how I wanted to introduce myself to you," the woman behind the desk said, offering him a handshake. "I'm Rose Cameron, but you call me Miss when you're in trouble."

"Yes, Miss." George didn't think he deserved to be in trouble, but he said nothing as he shook her hand. Rose was only slightly taller than he was and she had long blonde hair running down her back, but her grip was like a vice and George had to massage his hand afterwards.

"Now, just to let you know," she said, pulling a file out of her desk drawer, "I was a Cherub so I know how it all works. You can come and speak to me if you've got any problems, but I'll also be looking after your class schedule and any punishments you might accrue," she said with a knowing smile. "Best to keep on my good side."

"Anyway," she said, flicking through the file before fixing her gaze on George, "Care to explain how you've been a qualified agent for less than twenty-four hours and there are now two broken doors in one room and another room which looks as if a pack of rabid dogs were let loose in it?"

"It wasn't me, Miss," George began, but the look on Rose's face suggested she'd heard that line hundreds of times before.

"You're friends with Rex?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Did you know that he was out for revenge?"

"Well, he did tell me, yeah, but-"

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"I tried! He just wasn't going to listen."

Rose clapped the file closed. "If someone is going to cause trouble, you should come and tell someone before it gets out of hand."

"But Miss, you kow how it works, nobody ever grasses."

"I know, but if we head it off before it happens, nobody gets into trouble," Rose replied, not giving an inch. "Instead, there are two doors that need to be replaced along with practically an entire wardrobe and some bedding. Two of your fellow agents are going to get severe punishments. Do you think you should be punished for letting that happen?"

George wanted to say no, but he didn't think it would be tactful to argue, so he just said nothing.

"There's a report in your file about being involved in a similar incident before basic training. I'd love to turn a blind eye to this so you'd think I'm friendly, but I can't."

"I pulled her off him, doesn't that count for anything?" George tried.

"Not in my book. I appreciate that your role in this was minor at best, but the sooner you realise that this kind of thing only leads to punishment, the better. You'll still get the rest of this week off to recover, but you'll do an hour in the recycling centre every evening," Rose said severely. "If I hear about one more incident of this type, you'll be straight in front of the chairwoman. I hear she takes this kind of thing very seriously, and you can expect much worse."

George just nodded, pleased to have got off relatively lightly.

"You can go. I'll see you at the end of the week to sort out your classes."

Rex was sure to be in a foul mood after getting smacked around by Jemima, so George gave his room a wide berth. He knocked on Letty's door, partly because he didn't fancy rattling around in his room for the rest of the evening and partly because he wanted to know if she got punished too.

"It's open!" she replied in her familiar accent. George pushed the door open and looked around to see where Letty was. The room seemed to be empty, but he spotted the light on in the en suite and strolled over.

The door was pushed to and he was about to ask if Letty was decent but he heard sobs and decided to chance it. Letty was inside with her arm about Jemima, who was crying. The pair were surrounded by a mountain of used tissues and George felt awkward.

"I can come back…" he said, trying not to put his boot down on anything.

"It's okay," Letty said, patting the floor next to her. "Don't fancy comforting Rex then?"

"He'll probably just accuse me of betraying him and then tell me to go away anyway," George replied, kicking tissues out of the way and sitting down next to the two girls. "Punishment was harsh, huh?"

Jemima nodded, sniffing.

"Fifty laps and six months suspended from missions, plus she's gotta pay for the doors," Letty explained. "On top of that, her room is completely ruined and even though all the standard stuff will get replaced, the rest is lost."

"Wow," George said, sounding sympathetic. Six months seemed like an impossibly long time, and he knew it'd be made worse by the fact that new grey shirts were really competitive about who got missions and who didn't.

"I expect Rex will have got similar," he added, shrugging.

"He has to pay for all of my damaged stuff out of his pocket money," Jemima said, her voice raw, "But I don't know about anything else."

George sighed. "No doubt I'll be hearing about it for the next six months."

"Better hope you get a nice long mission, then," Letty grinned. "Just because the other two might be banned doesn't mean we won't be competing."

"Knowing us, we won't get the breaks. It'll be Harry and Beatrice who get the juicy missions," George grumbled. "My disciplinary record on campus is already shot to hell and I've barely done anything wrong."

Letty raised an eyebrow. "Barely?"

"Well, maybe there have been one or two misunderstandings, but nothing serious," George replied, struggling not to smile.

There was a banging noise from outside the door and George hopped to his feet to see what was going on. His first thoughts were of Rex going on the rampage again, but he'd left Letty's door open when he came in and he could see that someone had opened the door to his room.

"I'd better see what's going on," he said uncertainly to the girls as he trotted out of the room. Since they'd been issued with lock guns George had been unsure about the safety of the locks on the doors, and he wondered if he'd be allowed to put a chain or a bolt on the door.

"Hello?" he asked as he stepped into his room. It had got dark since he'd gone to see his handler and whoever had barged in hadn't stopped to switch on the light. Before he could reach the switch, a bulky arm shot out from behind the door and grabbed him around the neck, effortlessly dragging him over to the sofa and throwing him down like a doll.

"Who the f-" George exclaimed, but before he could get the words out, a hand clapped over his mouth.

"Agent Knight, I must warn you that I do not officially exist. You are going to be taken to the training compound for a week-long punishment that you must not speak about, not even to your friends," the voice said, but George recognised it and squirmed free of the hand on his mouth.

"Michael you retard, get off me," he said, kicking his legs and trying to get purchase on the carpet. "Why are you here?"

The game was up, so Michael let go of him and took a stride across the room to switch on the light.

"Had you going there for a second, ya?" the fifteen-year-old asked, reaching out a hand so George could pull himself up.

"Nah, I knew it was you the moment you spoke," George replied, shaking his head as Michael pulled him to his feet. He was actually being truthful; after rude awakenings from Kazakov and the fire hose, he was a lot less scared of sudden attacks than he'd been four months ago.

"I suppose that's true," Michael said, rubbing a hand over adolescent stubble he'd yet to shave. "Anyway, I heard you've been a naughty boy."

"Eh?"

"My handler is Rose, same as you. She sent me off on that recruitment mission to make friends with you, so when she was handing out punishments after less than a day, she was talking about nothing else all through our meeting," Michael explained, flicking open George's mini-fridge as he spoke and sighing audibly at the lack of contents.

"It wasn't even my fault," George complained. "I actually tried to stop them fighting."

Michael shrugged. "Better get used to the discipline, kiddie. I was once punished just for being in the room when a food fight broke out in the cafeteria."

"You know the worst part? My discipline record is already bad, so I'm never gonna get sent on a decent mission," George added, watching Michael poke through his still-packed bags.

"You'll get something eventually. Most newly-qualified agents get nothing but security checks and break-ins for the first few months anyway," Michael replied, unboxing George's phone.

"Do you mind?" George laughed, knocking the box out of Michael's hands. "You have no sense of personal space."

"Whatever. Listen, I live at the other end of the corridor and we're organising a PlayStation thing for tonight. You're probably knackered from training but I thought I'd ask, see if you wanted to stay for an hour or something and get acquainted with some of the others from the floor."

George looked at the piles of clothes he still had to unpack. "I slept pretty well on the plane back, so I'm good for an hour or two."

"Excellent. You'd better bring your miserable friend next door; I mixed up your room with his on the way here and I got a lot of abuse," Michael laughed.

The exhaustion finally hit George a few hours later and he retired to bed, sinking into his mattress happily. Rex's mood had improved a lot after an hour dominating the older kids on Gran Turismo, and while his friend was facing a few miserable months on campus without money or missions, George knew that it was only a matter of time until he got an invitation to the mission control building. He'd passed basic training and was sleeping in a huge bed in his own room, so as far as George was concerned, life was pretty good. He didn't even have to get up in the morning.

"Six hours on a Saturday?" George said incredulously, his mind boggling as he studied the printed timetable. "I don't even get the afternoon off?"

Rose shook her head. "Newly-qualified agents have to do a lot of combat training on top of your studies. You'll miss a lot when you're away on missions, plus, being ahead of your classmates at school makes it easier for you to focus on the mission objectives."

"But come on, look at it! It's solid, every day," George moaned. "Is there nothing I can do?"

"No, there's not," Rose replied, looking harassed. "You just need to deal with it. All Cherubs are selected partly because they're cleverer than nearly everyone else their age, so the class work will be challenging but you can manage it."

"But Miss, I wasn't really the cleverest at school," George continued. He knew he wasn't going to get a break but he liked to vent. "There were others way smarter."

"I've read your school reports. You certainly managed the work given to you, even if you didn't necessarily excel at anything in particular," Rose said, slapping her hand down on the desk. "I haven't got any more time to waste listening to you complain, so I suggest you get out of my office and get on with something productive," she said severely. "If I see complaining to anyone else about your timetable you'll be running laps, clear?"

George just grumbled under his breath as he left the office, holding the piece of paper with his timetable on it. He'd spent the entire week relaxing, doing nothing more strenuous than hanging out with Rex or spending an hour in the recycling centre. Six hours of lessons per day, plus combat training and an evening language course made the next few months seem a lot less rosy than he'd been hoping for.


	19. 19: Scheme

**19: Scheme**

"Mr Knight, why are you in my office again?" Rose asked, looking up from her copy of Cosmopolitan. "There had better be a good reason."

George sat down in the chair opposite her. "I was going to ask whether I was going to get a mission soon."

"I told you before, if you behave yourself and keep your head down, you'll be selected for something soon."

"But it's been over a month since I passed basic and I'm still waiting," George whined, planting his elbows on the desk. "Can't you recommend me or something?"

Rose tutted and wagged a finger. "I'm starting to get the impression that you come in here to whine at me when you've got something else you'd rather not so."

Of course, she was right. George had a big pile of maths homework on his desk that he was avoiding, but he didn't want to tell her that. "I just really want a mission. Letty's been on one!"

"George, we try and give every Cherub experience working undercover. Unless you're suspended from missions, you're always considered. Just be patient."

"But-"

"No buts. I can't walk up to the mission controllers and demand you get a mission any more than you can. Look on the bright side; if you've got a long period built up on campus, you're more likely to get a long mission instead of a security check."

"I suppose."

"Now, if you've had enough of moaning to me for one day, you can close the door on your way out," Rose said, pointing to the exit. "Do not trouble me again."

"Will you let me know if I do get a mission?"

"You'll know as soon as I do. Anyway, don't you want to be on campus for the big wedding*?"

George was halfway through getting out of his chair and he paused. "Wedding?"

"Chloe Blake, one of our mission controllers, is getting married in a few weeks. The service will be held on campus, it'll be a big thing," Rose explained. "She was one of the older agents during my time here."

"Sounds boring," George admitted. "Church stuff doesn't really get my pulse racing."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Boys," she said dismissively. "Anyway, there'll be a disco for the younger kids. Those things usually turned into a bit of a riot when I was your age."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Time for you to go," Rose grinned.

George turned and headed for the door, dreading his maths work.

"Oh, George? Try to get that maths homework done. I've had Mr Brennan in here twice this week."

Rex was lying on his back, facing the ceiling with his feet up on the sofa when George strolled into his room.

"Sup," George said nonchalantly, sitting on his unmade bed. "Much going on?"

"Nothing," Rex replied. "Got homework to do but I'm procrastinating."

"Long word."

"Yeah."

"Did you do the maths yet?" George asked hopefully.

"No, not yet. You shouldn't always sponge off me, you know."

"Whatever. I can't help that I'm terrible at everything," George shrugged, looking out of the window at the rain trickling down the pane. "Can I copy off you when you're done."

"I suppose. Just make sure you give it back," Rex replied, not moving. "Did you get a mission yet?"

"Nope. Rose says she doesn't know when I'll get one," George said, deflated. "Letty will probably get her second before I get one."

"Who cares about Letty," Rex said, rolling onto his side. "You'll probably be off on two or three missions before I finally finish my suspension."

Before George could reply, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Rex said in a bored tone, now lying on his front, face in the carpet.

The bulky frame of Michael Jaarsveld edged into the room, not opening the door fully lest it smack Rex in the back of the head.

"Hi Michael," George said. "What's up?"

"You chaps up to anything?" he asked, putting on a ludicrous British accent as he made a beeline for the mini-fridge.

George just shook his head. Rex replied with a muffled "No."

"Excellent," Michael said. George wasn't sure whether he was pleased that the two of them were free or whether he was just happy that Rex had cans of Sprite in his fridge.

"Pass me one," George asked, and Michael threw one over.

"You know, those are mine," Rex said, lying on his back again. "I haven't actually had any yet."

"Whatever," Michael said, shrugging as he cracked the tab and sucked down a few mouthfuls. "I heard that you two aren't on missions yet and haven't got much to do."

"Who told you that?" George asked, opening his can and hoping it wouldn't fizz everywhere.

Michael grinned. "You're both sat here on a Sunday afternoon, it's not hard to work out that there's nothing better to do. Anyway, I've got a little business proposition if you're game."

George thought it sounded dodgy and shrugged, but Rex looked up.

"Really? For money?"

"It'd be a bit crap if it wasn't for money."

Rex was still paying for the damage to Jemima's room, so he was desperate for cash he didn't have to surrender to CHERUB.

"You interested? Strictly top-secret, though," Michael said, pushing the door shut.

"Suppose so," George shrugged. "What's the deal?"

Michael sat down on the sofa and shoved Rex's feet off so he could recline with his feet up. "You know this wedding that's coming up?"

Rex shook his head, so George filled him in.

"So, there's this disco for the younger kids, which is probably all fun and games for you little ones, but the older crowd are more into beer," Michael said, wiggling his can of Sprite for emphasis. "I'm planning to meet the demand."

"How are you gonna get more than a few cans in?" Rex asked, sitting up and listening.

"Simple. I'll get one of CHERUB's vans, drive to a wholesaler, act like I'm working for a company, they'll give me a pile of booze, then I drive back and stash it somewhere," Michael said. "If I put on some sunglasses and a hat I'll pass for eighteen. I've been to bars on missions."

George scratched his nose. "Then how do you make money?"

"Sell it to Cherubs at the party for a buck over purchase price. They'll drink loads and I'll be rich."

"What do you need us for?" Rex asked.

"I can't keep the booze in my room. The staff are gonna be vigilant with the party coming up, and let's just say that I'm known to them for similar offences in the past," Michael chuckled. "But if I stash it in here or next door in your room, George, they'll never search for it and come the day of the party, we sneak it over to the gymnasium."

"How much are you paying?"

"Twenty quid to whoever's room gets used," Michael said.

"I'll do it," Rex shrugged. "I've got plenty of uses for twenty quid."

"Excellent," Michael said, draining his can and springing up. "The party is on a Saturday in about three weeks, so I'll go down in two weeks to pick everything up. Gotta take orders and stuff first."

"Sounds good," Rex said, already excited by the prospect of twenty pounds' spending money.

"Right, I'm off right now. Enjoy your afternoon," Michael said, lunging forwards to slap George gently. He ducked backwards and dodged it, and Michael laughed and headed for the door.

"If I'm not seeing any of that money, you're not dragging me into this," George said to Rex, getting up as well. "Don't want to throw away a possible chance of a mission."

"What makes you think you'll get into trouble?"

"Michael's schemes aren't always foolproof; why do you think he's a fifteen-year-old navy shirt who's always off on recruitment missions?"

The wedding was the big thing on campus. George wasn't particularly excited; it got him out of lessons, but in return he had to sit through was was undoubtedly going to be a boring service. What he hadn't bargained on was Letty and Jemima's unbridled enthusiasm.

"Look, if it comes to it, I'll get you a shirt and tie," Letty said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room with her laptop, shoe shopping.

"What's wrong with a polo shirt and some decent trousers?" George said for the hundredth time. "I'll never wear a shirt and tie again until I've outgrown it."

"I don't care. This is Chloe's special day, don't you think it'd be nice to look your best?" Letty replied, sounding cross.

George gave up and looked over at Jemima, who was polishing her combat boots over a dirty towel. "What about you? Are you gonna splash out on a dress and everything?"

Jemima shrugged. "I've got no money, so I'm gonna wear something from my wardrobe and borrow some shoes or something."

"My shoes are probably too small for you," Beatrice's muffled voice came from the en suite. "You'll have to see if you can fit Letty's."

"You're welcome to try mine," George grinned, pulling off one of his boots and gently throwing it towards Jemima.

She scrambled away from the smelly boot. "Ew. Come and get this before I knock your block off."

"You might as well give it a polish now," George said, shrugging. "It's not going back on, I've been on my feet all day."

Jemima examined the boot. "It's crusted in mud. Here, give me the other one."

George had been on the receiving end of plenty of jokes and half expected to see his boots go sailing out of the window or something, but he was pleasantly surprised when Jemima sat back down with both of them and began chipping the mud off.

Beatrice emerged from the en suite wearing a yellow summer dress. "What do you think?"

George kept quiet as the three girls oohed and aahed over the dress. He actually thought it looked nice, but he wouldn't be caught dead saying so. Rex would laugh his socks off.

"Anyway," he declared after spending five minutes staring into space. "I'm off to do some homework, it's gotta be better than listening to you three squeal."

Beatrice gave him a hard look. "It's only a week until the wedding; you'd better get a shirt and tie or I'm gonna stick your head through the wall."

George was a good few inches taller than the girl threatening him, but he'd learnt not to mess with the girls at CHERUB. They were often more vicious than they seemed.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," he replied, turning and heading for the safety of his room.

"I'll be checking up on you," Letty warned as he shut the door.

George did have homework to do, but he didn't fancy it and so he took a detour to Rex's room.

"You in?" he shouted through the door.

"Yeah," a resigned voice said from inside, so George stepped inside cautiously. Rex's bad moods usually involved him taking it out on those around him.

The interior of Rex's room was a tip. There were exercise books covering the carpet and there was a thick patch of paper where a tub containing geography worksheets had tipped over. Rex was scribbling away at a map with a coloured pencil.

"Bit of a frenzy?" George asked, trying not to tread on anything and remembering that Jemima still had his boots.

"I was supposed to have this project handed in at Burton's office two hours ago," Rex said urgently, relaxing for a few moments. "He's definitely gonna stick me into an all-day detention tomorrow to catch up, and I've already got laps to do for the history stuff I didn't get in on time."

"Tough deal," George said, sifting through some of the books. "Listen, the girls are on at me about getting a shirt and tie, you wouldn't happen to have one I could borrow?"

Rex rubbed one eye. "I've probably got an old school tie you could borrow. I'm too tall for you to fit any of my shirts."

"I'll ask Harry, he's basically my height," George said, ambling towards the wardrobe. "Where do you keep ties?"

"No offence, but could you clear off for a bit? I've gotta get this finished and you've probably got homework too," Rex said irritable. "I'll bring the tie over at some point when I'm not so busy."

"No problem," George replied, heading for the door. "I appreciate it. Gotta get my boots back anyway."

He stumbled on a textbook and tripped into the corridor, only managing to keep his balance by grabbing the door handle. Rex didn't even look up and George decided he should probably do some homework before he ended up the same way.

***Author Note: This chapter is set in May 2010 whereas the wedding in ****_Shadow Wave_**** took place in May 2009. The reason for the discrepancy is because James Adams was born in late 1991; he was doing basic training during Christmas 2003 but he'd already turned 12, which puts his birthday in October/November. This led to an oversight on my part but also possibly on Robert Muchamore's; James goes to Stanford in late 2009 at the end of ****_Shadow Wave_****, but he would only have been 17 until October/November of that year, at which point he would have turned 18. Most students in both the UK and the US don't go to university until they're 18, so I assumed the wedding was set in 2010 and didn't check my copy of Shadow Wave. So my apologies for this being out of sequence, but it doesn't really impact the story. I'm still going to act as if this takes place during ****_Shadow Wave_**** even though George was born in late 1999.**


	20. 20: Buy

**20: Buy**

The digital alarm clock beside George's bed read 04.16 when his door was unlocked from the outside and the light flicked on.

George let out a groan and covered his eyes, squinting over to see who was disturbing him.

"George, man, get up," Michael said, whipping away the duvet. "I'm in a hurry."

George sat up and scratched his belly, his eyes finally adjusted to the light. "Why are you here at… quarter past four?" he asked, checking the clock.

"Blame your idiot friend Rex," Michael said, shaking his head derisively. "That little prick told me he'd be up for coming with me today and picking up the drink, but he landed himself detention and laps so he's stuck on campus."

"Yeah, he got way behind on homework," George said, pulling on the same grey t-shirt he'd worn the previous day. "What do you need me for?"

"You're coming with instead. You'll get ten bucks if you give me a hand today," Michael told him. "All I need is help with carrying and navigation. Lose the t-shirt though, nothing with the logo on it for outside operations."

George rolled out of bed and swapped his t-shirt for his QPR shirt which wasn't much cleaner. "Sounds good."

"Get a move on, I'm ten minutes behind schedule already because of that bottler next door."

There wasn't time for a shower or teeth cleaning, so George just blasted himself with deodorant and pulled on his boots.

George had a feeling of adventure as he rode the lift down to the ground floor with Michael and they walked through the darkness towards the vehicle park. There was nobody around and being with the powerfully-built older agent made George feel pretty cool. He wished that Rex could see him.

"Alright, I've already prepared one of the unmarked white vans. You're gonna ride up front and use my phone to work out the route," Michael said, strolling through the reception area and finding the keys to a battered Transit. He passed George his phone and a sheet of paper with the address on it, and the two boys headed for the nondescript van parked up with six others.

"We should be back on campus in three hours before anyone realises we're gone. The desk isn't staffed until eight so that's our deadline, although if we get delayed we can always bluff," Michael said as they climbed into the front seats. "The bit that's gonna take the time is unloading."

"How are we gonna get it all up to Rex's room?" George asked as Michael adjusted the seat and pulled away from the parking space.

"I've got an equipment trolley hidden in one of the maintenance cupboards. We'll load it up and take it up in the lift. It'll look red-hot suspicious, but it's safer to do it in one go and keep our fingers crossed than to do multiple trips," Michael said, pulling the big steering wheel around as he left the car park and headed for the front gate. "Now let's have those directions, I don't wanna make a wrong turning and have to reverse this thing."

The wholesalers was about thirty miles away, but CHERUB campus is surrounded by country roads and villages with 30mph limits, so the route took them nearly fifty minutes. Michael pulled the van into a goods entrance and donned a baseball cap with a weird logo. The sun was rising so he'd slipped on sunglasses to further change his appearance.

"Yo," Michael said as he pulled up next to a twenty-something who had a nasty spray of zits on his forehead and a clipboard in his hands. "Here to pick up the delivery, I phoned yesterday?"

"Yeah, we're expecting you," the guy said, pointing to an entranceway with stacks of boxes inside it. "That lot's yours. Just need a signature."

As Michael scrawled an illegible mess onto the form, the employee peered into the van and across as George.

"Boss's son," Michael grunted, acting like he wasn't too pleased. "The big cheese has too much to drink and I end up babysitting at who-knows-when in the morning."

The guy laughed. "Sucks to be you," he grinned, taking the clipboard and waving them through after handing Michael his copy of the receipt.

George marvelled at Michael. He'd done all of the espionage training same as everyone during basic, but there was a world of difference between an untested ten-year-old like him and an older agent who could bluff his way into a wholesalers at five in the morning without missing a beat.

"Right squirt, I'm gonna pull the back of the van up to the door. You give me a hand shifting everything into it, and then set the GPS into reverse or whatever. You're riding in the back for the next stretch."

George was mystified and wondered why until he hopped out and pulled open the rear doors. Half of the van was stacked full of shoe boxes of varying sizes, and judging by the length of the van, they were five or six rows deep.

"Good, ya?" Michael asked, looking at his handiwork.

"That's genius," George grinned, working it out. "Every girl on campus must have been buying new shoes in the past couple of weeks."

"Ya. I just knocked on doors and offered to take them away, no charge. While I drive back, you're gonna load up all the booze into these so we can get them inside. Pack them with tissue paper so nothing clinks," Michael smiled, turning to the boxes and checking his receipt. "If i do the heavy stuff, you check everything off the list."

It took twenty minutes to transfer everything from the boxes into the van. George's mum usually had two or three bottles of vodka in the house and he'd sneaked some once just to see what it tasted like, but he'd never seen such a huge haul. There were more than a hundred bottles of beer, and that didn't include the cans or the bigger bottles of spirits that only just fitted into the boxes.

"That's everything," Michael said, checking the list once more. "You get in the back and I'll shut you in. It'll be bumpy but try to hold onto something at all times."

Unpacking all of the alcohol and repacking it into boxes was time consuming and George realised that Michael had thought through the plan perfectly; if he'd been working alone, he would never have had time to do all of this and still make it back to campus. The only scary thing was that when the boxes were stacked, a heavy bump would cause them to topple over and smash, so George reorganised everything into smaller piles before disaster struck.

He finished packing everything with ten minutes to spare, according to his watch, so he spent the remainder of the journey sitting in the windowless space trying to guess where they were driving based on the stops and starts and which direction they were turning. The gravel on campus was distinctive and his watch said they were fifteen minutes ahead of the three hour guess.

"Out ya come," Michael said, opening the rear doors again. The sunlight was bright and George blinked as he jumped out and ran to the bushes at the edge of the car park for a much-needed piss.

"Done?" Michael asked when he returned. It was turning into a beautiful warm day and George just grinned.

"Right. I'll get the trolley, you start moving the boxes out. I need to put the van back where I got it from before we go into the main building, so don't leave anything behind," Michael said before jogging off to find the trolley. George didn't fancy heavy lifting but he was getting paid, so he started with the boxes containing the lighter cans and hoped that Michael would be back to do the heavy stuff.

The only oversight in the plan was that there was so much booze that it didn't all fit on the trolley. Michael had to make two trips while George waited nervously by the pile that remained, but nobody was around and they walked the second trolley-load into the main building without missing a beat. Rex was out at his detention, so Michael had unlocked his door with the lock gun and had piled all of the shoeboxes in his en suite.

"He'll probably have to share a shower with you for the rest of the week," Michael laughed as he put six more boxes in the bath. "You don't mind, right?"

George shrugged. "When do we get paid?"

"After the party," Michael said. "I'll probably need a hand distributing all of this lot, so if you're after another tenner then I'd appreciate some help."

"Why not Rex?"

"I'm not working with that guy again. Getting a detention when he was supposed to be helping me?" Michael sneered, shaking his head.

George felt awkward. Rex was his best friend, but Michael was cool and he knew that Rex could be really immature sometimes. It was hard enough hanging out with Letty and Jemima when Rex hated them, but if Rex got a grudge against his older friend… George didn't want to think about it.

Half of George wanted to go back to bed once Michael disappeared back down the corridor to his own room, but the other half was aware that he was awake and that it was a beautiful day. He had no lessons and sitting indoors on his only day off didn't sound particularly appetising, but he didn't have anyone to go outside with and it would be the afternoon before any spontaneous kickabouts broke out. He hung around outside his room for a while, toying with the idea of taking homework outside and sitting on the grass, but then the lift came up and he spotted Jemima walking his way, her hair dripping and a bag of running kit in her hand.

"What're you doing up so early?" George asked, leaning against his door.

"What does it look like?" Jemima replied in a mocking tone. "Trying to get those laps out of the way. The track is quieter in the morning and it's not as hot as during the day."

"Makes sense," George nodded, glad he wasn't running laps in the early summer sun.

"Why are you up? You're usually the type to sleep until eleven or stay in bed watching TV," Jemima asked, ditching her kit in a soggy heap as she unlocked the door to her room.

George shrugged. "Couldn't sleep for some reason. Probably the heat."

Jemima seemed to accept this and she pushed open her door. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"Not yet," George shook his head. "It's only just opened, anyway."

"Fancy beating the rush?" Jemima asked, unceremoniously booting her kit bag into the room. "It's never that busy on Sundays but people take forever and read the papers."

"Why not?" George smiled. "Rex is off at his detention but if you wanna wake Letty, I'll give you a hand."

"She sleeps like the dead," Jemima giggled. "Didn't you work that out on basic training?"

"Uh," George hesitated. "She was usually the one waking me, actually."

Jemima shook her head. "You're such an idiot."

"Are we waking her or not?"

"Leave her. We'll come and get her after breakfast so she doesn't miss such a nice day."

"Fair enough. Maybe later we can go and find out where Rex is so we can laugh at him through the window," George grinned as they made their way down the corridor.

"Don't," Jemima said, stifling a laugh. "I'm supposed to be on my best behaviour around him or I'll get punished more. A hundred laps hang in the balance."

"Harsh," George said sympathetically. "Do you still get to go to the summer hostel?"

"Oh, yeah. Unless I accidentally kick his head in or something, then probably not," Jemima replied. watching the lift doors slide open.

"You should be careful. Ever since we finished training he's been doing extra karate every single day and he's got these muscles now. I don't think I could take him."

"We'll see. These laps have been bulking me up too, although I wish they weren't," Jemima sighed. "I'm starting to look like a tiny version of Miss Takada."

George snorted. "I can see the family resemblance."

Jemima gave him a hard punch in the ribs.


	21. 21: Wedding

**21: Wedding**

It was another warm day when George rolled out of bed, woken by racket in the corridor that he knew wasn't going to die down. They'd been having a good spell of weather and George had prioritised swimming in the lake and sleeping on the grass over doing homework, so he was grateful to be missing his Russian class to watch the ceremony. It wasn't until the middle of the day, so he donned a pair of jeans and a CHERUB t-shirt when he'd finished in the shower and went to see if anybody else was out and about.

Rex had been let off his punishment laps for the day, and he almost walked into George as he opened the door.

"Oh, hi. I came over to give you this," Rex said, handing George a striped tie. "It's from my old school, not sure why I still have it."

"For emergencies like this," George smiled, tossing the tie onto his unmade bed. "I'll get all dressed up later, no point getting sweaty this early in the morning."

"The girls are really getting excited," Rex informed him as he locked his door and put the key into his pocket. "They've been up since seven shouting at each other. I'd give them a wide berth if I were you."

"Good idea," George said, wincing as he heard something thump heavily against one of the closed doors. "Any ideas of how we can kill a few hours?"

"After breakfast we could go to the pool? The one with all of the awesome water slides will be deserted because everyone's getting ready for this," Rex suggested.

"Sounds good. We'd better be back here by half eleven or I think Jemima might batter me," George said after a moment's thought. "All that running has given her legs like rocks."

Rex just shook his head and muttered something insulting under his breath, but Goerge wasn't really in the mood to hear his bickering.

Thankfully the pool wasn't shut because a couple of staff members had retreated there to get away from all of the fuss surrounding Chloe. They acted as lifeguards while Rex and George enjoyed freedom over pretty much everything, only having a couple of black-shirt lads for company. When one of the black-shirts was hauled away by his apoplectic girlfriend, George decided it was time to head back before he was also on the receiving end of an earful.

Rex didn't want to see the girls so he went to pick up some of his kit from the gym, leaving George to go back on his own. He made a quick change into a blue shirt he'd borrowed from Harry and the tie he'd got from Rex, combed his wet hair and pulled on a pair of ex-school trousers. It wasn't spectacular but it would pass.

"Coming in," Letty yelled as she hurtled through his door wearing only pyjamas and giant fluffy slippers, skidding to a halt on the carpet.

"I could have just got out of the shower, you know," George said, but he was smiling. "Aren't you dressed yet?"

"Beatrice and Jemima are doing theirs, it's my turn next. I just wanted to make sure you were ready," she explained. "I know what you're like."

"So much confidence," George tutted. "I'm ready, what do you think?" He spun around on the spot and Letty nodded.

"Not bad. Think this is the first time I've seen you looking half-decent," she said. "Even when you're supposed to be in a smart uniform you always seem to have mud somewhere."

George just shrugged. "Not my problem. When are you going to go down to the chapel?"

"Just before twelve," Letty replied. "We're leaving plenty of time. Is Rex about?"

"He went to get some kit or something."

"I'm gonna be angry if he's planning to miss it," she snarled, pounding a fist into her palm. "Don't think Jemima would care very much, but you boys are really winding me up."

George actually thought that he'd been very cooperative, but it wasn't the time to say so.

"I'll go and look in on Michael for a bit," George said. "Leave you girls to your dressing and stuff, I don't wanna be like a lemon in your room."

"We're in Beatrice's room, but yeah fine. Come back by quarter to," Letty said, turning on her heel and disappearing as suddenly as she'd arrived.

George knocked on Michael's door and he answered a few seconds later, dressed to the nines in a three-piece grey suit. He even had a matching top hat under his arm.

"Nice threads," George grinned, but Michael looked anxiously over his shoulder before pulling the door shut.

"Listen, you would not believe what I have put up with over the past few days," Michael said, looking distressed. "This was a compromise choice."

"Who's forcing you? The girls opposite me made me wear all this," George said, pointing to his shirt and tie.

"Nice school tie," Michael grinned. "Anyway, it's my girl Lucy who's making me. No mercy."

"Girls eh?" George said, looking down the corridor as some pandemonium broke out halfway along.

"Give it a few years, you'll be in the same boat as me," Michael said, sounding resigned as he heard his girlfriend's voice through the door, shouting something about shoes. "Listen, I'll meet you outside Rex's room at five. Don't be late."

"Roger," George replied as Michael disappeared back into his room. He accidentally bumped his hat into the doorframe as he did so, and as George headed back to his room he could hear Lucy screaming blue murder. He should have felt bad for the guy but instead he just smirked.

George had never been to a wedding before. He didn't have any family growing up and none of his mum's friends had fancied having her kid along for the service, so he'd spent the occasional Saturday afternoon at a friend's house instead. The whole idea of people getting married seemed boring, and it was for adults who seemed impossibly old anyway, so George decided not to take too much of an interest. He met up with Rex and they passed the time giggling and trying to set light to the order of service before one of the red-shirt carers gave them a rollicking in angry whispers. The chapel was quite warm when it was packed full of people, so George was relieved when everyone filed out and he could enjoy the sunshine again.

"Finally," he said, pulling off his tie and stuffing it into his pocket. "I wonder if they'll let us go over to the lake."

"We'd better go now," Rex noted, looking around. "There must be nearly a hundred ex-Cherubs here and they'll probably want to walk around and everything.

To George's relief, the majority of the returning Cherubs were Chloe's age and had been away from campus for less than a decade, so only a few unlucky black-shirts were told to go and give tours of the newer facilities. He and Rex took advantage of the fact that most girls were in fancy dresses and didn't want to get grass stains sitting by the lake. The wedding and forthcoming reception had put campus into a good mood which George felt as he lay on his back in the sun. The weather was great, he was sure to get a mission before long, and he was looking forward to an evening of unlimited fizzy drinks and ten quid from Michael. He had almost saved up enough for a PlayStation. He was so relaxed that he didn't even care when a couple wearing their fancy clothes began snogging a few feet away, although when a football match broke out he finally got up and ran over to join in to get away from them.

Rex stayed out with the others playing football at five o'clock, so George jogged up the stairs of the main building by himself. The lifts were empty because everyone was out in the sun but he was pumped up from all of the running around and didn't fancy standing still for more than thirty seconds.

"Ah, it's you," Michael said as George rounded the final staircase and stepped into the corridor. "We've got plenty of time so it's just a matter of carrying everything over to the gym."

"How're we gonna do it?" George asked, panting slightly as he peered into Rex's room at the assembled boxes.

"Simple. I've got a golf buggy waiting downstairs which we can load up. Should take two or three trips. If anyone stops us we'll say it's a punishment job for Zara," Michael explained, shifting some of the boxes into the corridor. "Just make up something about not behaving during the service."

"I didn't actually behave during the service," George laughed, taking some of the strain and shifting the boxes towards the lift.

"Even better. When we get there, we'll stick everything into the equipment storage room. I've stolen a key for it and it's not likely that anyone will really want sparring mitts today," Michael added. "All you have to do this evening is run back and forth from the gym and the storage room getting the right things."

"Sounds easy," George grinned. "I'm still getting paid?"

"So long as you don't get caught."

By six o'clock the adults had gone off to their reception with authorised alcohol, leaving the underage Cherubs to share an overly-warm gymnasium. Some of the older agents who had recently retired were keeping an eye on things and running the budget disco system that was belting out music.

Michael and George were sat at one of the tables at the back, as far from the noise as possible. Michael had made it known amongst the older crowd that he was the man to go to for illicit booze, and while George guzzled down orangeade the older boy collected pound coins before sending George off to fetch it.

"Make sure you lock up when you leave," Michael warned him. "I don't want a mob of Cherubs stealing everything."

"I thought people had ordered stuff specially?" George asked.

"They have, but I got some extra beer and stuff to sell on the night."

Going back and forth was tiring but not particularly hard, and all of his combat training meant that George didn't really get out of breath jogging around. The best part was getting to sit with a group of Michael's friends who were all fifteen or sixteen and were insanely cool.

"Hi Michael," a dark-haired girl wearing a stunning off-the-shoulder dress said as she walked past the table accompanied by her blonde friend, who had her arm around a black-shirt that George didn't recognise.

"Hi Bethany, Lauren," Michael smiled, leaning forwards in his chair. "Come to collect?"

Lauren smiled. "Plus Rat," she said, digging the black-shirt in the ribs.

"No problem," Michael said, looking at his list. "George, go and fetch all of the wine spritzers and that big bottle of vodka, you know the one."

"And four cans of cider," the Cherub called Rat added in an Australian accent.

It only took George a couple of minutes before he was returning with the drinks, which Michael passed out in return for a couple of notes.

"Who's your assistant?" Bethany said, sitting on the edge of the table so that her dress hiked up. George was too young to care about girls' legs and Michael just rolled his eyes, but a few of the other boys sat nearby looked over with interest.

"This is George, he's the kid I brought back from that recruitment in London," Michael explained.

"Well, thanks George. Make sure Michael doesn't rip you off," Lauren giggled, slugging back some of the wine spritzer she was holding.

Bethany giggled in unison before leaning over and giving George a kiss on the cheek. "He's too cute to be doing dirty work."

Lauren followed suit, then both girls kissed him at the same time and he blushed, much to their amusement. Thankfully Rat seemed to be more interested in draining his can, but nonetheless, George wished he'd had a picture of the two beautiful older girls kissing him.

"Ladykiller," Michael laughed as the girls left. "I'd bet my left nut that when you're my age, you'll be fighting 'em off."


	22. 22: Trouble

**22: Trouble**

The party broke up at ten, although most of the older Cherubs were going to move outside or to their rooms to carry on. Michael had sold all of the alcohol and was grinning with happiness, draining most of a bottle of gin with his girlfriend Lucy. George had tried lemonade mixed with gin, but it tasted horrible and he spat it out. He didn't really see the attraction of alcohol and sitting with all of the older agents who were discussing sex and getting drunk made him feel like a little kid.

"Here's your money," Michael said as he got up, ready to clear out. He handed George a battered tenner and winked. "Don't spend it all at once."

"Cheers," George said, taking the money as a sign that he could go. He vaguely wondered what Rex was doing, but he'd been up early and the heat had tired him out, so he decided to call it quits and get to bed, or at the very least, see if there was anything fun going on back in the main block.

The seventh floor was quiet when he got back, and neither Letty or Jemima were in. As he turned to go back to his room, Beatrice's door opened and she grinned.

"We're in here," she said, waving him over.

The three girls had changed out of their party clothes and were looking at a teen magazine, so George felt awkward.

"I won't stop," he said, grinning. "Did you enjoy the wedding?"

The girls all nodded.

"You seemed to be having a good time at the disco," Letty said mischievously.

"Got some lipstick on your cheek," Beatrice said, giggling.

It seemed like a trick, but when George rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand a red smudge came off.

"I'll wash it off before I go to sleep," George said sheepishly. "How come you're all back so early?"

"Some idiot spilt soda on Jemima's dress so we came back to help her get changed out of it and didn't really feel like going back down," Letty explained. "We're gonna have a slumber party."

"Alright. I'll see you girls in the morning. Enjoy your slumber party," he said, putting on a poor impression of Letty's accent. She glared at him and he made a swift exit.

He fell asleep as soon as he'd scrubbed the lipstick off and tucked the ten-pound note into his savings box. He'd got into a bad habit of not getting undressed before bed, especially if he was tired, and tonight was no exception, although he did throw the tie out of his pocket.

Unfortunately, his sleep was disturbed about half an hour later by the phone ringing. George wasn't sure why Cherubs even had phones in their rooms any more; anyone he needed to ring he could contact on his mobile, which, he realised, hadn't been charged for several days.

"Hello?"

"Hello George. Could you please make your way to the chairwoman's office at your earliest convenience?"

George didn't recognise the voice but he guessed it was Zara's receptionist.

"Um, yeah, what's it about?"

"I don't know, but she asked if you could come straight here and not make any detours."

"Okay."

The line went dead and George panicked. It was sure to be a punishment. He scrambled around the room, finding clean CHERUB uniform and making sure none of it had streaks of mud across it. There was an outside chance of him getting an urgent mission, and he thought that if it had been a punishment, he might have been called by Zara personally. Her husband was a mission controller, so maybe it was something to do with him.

George's fears were confirmed when he turned the corner to the chairwoman's office and spotted Michael sitting outside in his smartest uniform.

"No talking," the receptionist reminded them as he took a seat next to the navy-shirt. He'd been told that if you got in trouble with the chairwoman she made you wait outside for a while, so he settled into his chair and kept his eyes fixed on the clock.

But to his surprise, the door opened a few moments later and Zara's voice floated out. "Right, you two, get in here. I'd normally make you stew but I want to get back to my kids."

Michael and George trooped in, sitting in two chairs opposite her modern desk. Zara was still wearing the floral dress she'd worn to the wedding, but she looked considerably more tired.

"So," she said ominously, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a crumpled beer can. "Which of you is going to explain why half of the Cherubs on campus are running around with alcohol?"

Both boys knew they'd been caught but neither said anything, hoping that remaining silent would somehow help them out of the situation.

Zara sighed. "We can ignore it when there are a few of you having drinks, but quite frankly, the scale of this caught us off-guard. Parties on campus are always a risk but we thought a couple of cans for you older ones wouldn't make much difference. But when there's litres and litres arriving on campus, we can't ignore it."

"Michael, you can stop playing dumb. When we realised what was going on we made a few discreet enquiries and it looks like everything leads back to you."

Michael looked angry. "If someone snitched, I'm gonna find-"

"Nobody snitched," Zara said, raising her voice. "It may have escaped your notice but this is a spy agency. It's not too hard to spot you handing cans of beer over to your mates."

"I got all of that from another Cherub. They were selling it cheap," Michael replied, shaking his head. "I'll take the heat for that, if that's what you want."

Zara narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Michael. When we realised you were responsible we checked your room and found the receipt for the alcohol plus a sheet covered in what looked like orders."

Michael stared into his lap.

"Plus there's the small matter of a van signed out in your name," Zara added, slapping her hand onto the desk. "You're in this mess up to your ears and lying to me made it all worse."

George felt scared. He'd been in trouble before, at school and at CHERUB, but seeing Zara riled up was the scariest thing he'd had to face, and that included Kazakov during training.

"Michael, you're nearly sixteen years old. You've probably only got two years left as an agent, maybe only eighteen months for missions. You're a navy shirt with a string of recruitment missions and a poor record. If this isn't the point where you pull your socks up and get going, I don't really see much reason for this organisation to continue looking after you."

The navy-shirt looked up, shock obvious on his face.

Zara's face didn't soften. "In my time as chairwoman I haven't had to kick any agents out, but I will have no hesitation making you my first."

"But Miss, please-"

"No Michael, you've had plenty of last chances," Zara said firmly. "This is it. I've got two sheets here in front of me."

George watched, shocked, as she held both of them up. Michael looked close to tears.

"The left one is the terms for you to leave CHERUB. You'll go and live with a foster family for the next couple of years to sit your A-Levels at a fee-paying school, then you'll have the financial support to attend university or whatever you'd like, including help with a house when it comes to that," she explained. "All it needs is your signature."

"The right one is a disciplinary agreement. It's pointless suspending you from missions now, you're too old, but this agreement says that you'll fly to New Zealand tomorrow to undertake two recruitment missions. Hopefully being a long way from campus will help you reflect on your actions. When you return, you'll be expected to work in the mission preparation building for the rest of your time here. It could be cleaning the toilets, it could be helping mission controllers prepare briefings. Now, you get the choice of which to sign. If you choose to stay and get into one more bit of trouble, be it a late homework assignment or a swearword in the dojo, you're out."

Michael looked stunned. It took him a few moments to even move.

"I'll sign the disciplinary form, Miss."

Zara handed it over. "I hope this marks a turning point. I don't like the idea of throwing anyone out but you are a millimetre away."

Michael signed hurriedly and passed it back, wiping a tear on his sleeve.

"Okay, I'll send a copy of this to your handler. Now you'd better go and get some sleep, your flight leaves tomorrow evening," she said, sliding the signed form into a folder as Michael got up and left without a word.

George could feel his arm shaking as Zara's gaze moved to him.

"Listen, George, the reason I made you watch that is because that's how you're going to end up," she said, going back to her usual tone of voice. "I've looked at your file. In the past six months you've been involved in two major discipline issues as well as at least ten minor ones."

"I appreciate that in this case, Michael lured you in with the promise of money or whatever he offered you, but that's how he started too. In five years, you'll be sitting in this office trying to explain why I shouldn't throw you out too."

The chairwoman sighed a little. "You haven't been here long and it wouldn't be a problem if I cut our losses and threw you out. I personally believe you will eventually mature into an excellent agent, but bitter experience tells me that the ones who don't behave on campus never excel on missions."

George wasn't sure what she was saying, but he felt a chill when she mentioned being thrown out.

"But, in light of the fact that you're only ten and you've never been tested on a mission, I'm willing to give you a chance. Be warned; Michael might have had a hundred chances, but you'll only get one."

Her hand went back into the desk drawer and George wondered what was going to come out. The last thing he expected was the yellow swipe card which Zara placed on the desk.

"This will get you into the mission preparation building. Lucky for you, you'd been picked for this mission before all of this, otherwise I would have told them to pick someone else. You can report to Denis King's office at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning."

She didn't continue and George felt he should probably say something.

"Don't I get punished?"

Zara smiled. "You didn't really do very much wrong in this case, apart from being easily led by an older agent who should have known better. If I had my way I'd just let you get on with your mission and see how that goes, but we're supposed to make an example of wrongdoers. So when you get back from your mission, you'll spend a month helping in the Junior Block. This might teach you a bit of responsibility."

"Thank you, Miss," George said, grabbing the yellow card.

"I expect an outstanding report from our mission controller, George," Zara said as he left the office, trying to balance being in trouble against finally getting a mission.


	23. 23: Mission

23: Mission

The first thing Rex saw in the morning when he woke up was George's mission preparation card dangling in front of his nose.

"What time is it?" Rex said in a muffled voice as he hid back under his duvet.

"Eight. I've already showered, dressed and eaten breakfast," George grinned. "Got my meeting with a mission controller at nine."

"Well why can't you leave me to sleep," Rex moaned, rolling onto his front. "It's Sunday for goodness' sake."

"Wanted to make sure you knew all about it," George sang and he got off the bed and danced around the room. "I'm gonna wake up Jemima and Letty too."

"I wouldn't," Rex said without removing his head from the pillow. "Letty will kill you, you know how much she loves sleeping, and Jemima will just crush your head to powder."

George thought for a moment. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I might just go and polish my boots or something."

"Good idea," Rex replied. "Please go away."

"Alright, Rexy, I'm going," George laughed, slamming the door deliberately as he went.

Once his boots were sparkling and his hair was brushed, George made his way down the path towards the banana-shaped mission preparation building. The swipe card gave him entry and when he arrived outside Denis King's large office, his watch told him it he was five minutes early. He took a seat outside and tried to contain his excitement.

"You George?" a man said as he walked down the corridor and unlocked the office.

"Yes, sir," George said breathlessly, jumping up.

"Full of beans, huh," the man said, holding out a hand for a shake. "I'm Denis King, your mission controller. Come with me, young man."

The office looked well-used, with files stacked all over the place and cracks in the leather of the chair behind the desk. Denis offered George a seat before sliding a mission briefing across the table to him.

"Just routine, you'll have looked at similar stuff in training," Denis said, logging onto his computer. "You'll be heading off just before lunchtime if you accept it, but in my experience, young lads like you always do accept."

George just nodded, unable to think of a situation where he might turn the mission down as he pulled the briefing towards him and opened it up.

_**CLASSIFIED**_

_MISSION BRIEFING FOR GEORGE KNIGHT_

_THIS DOCUMENT IS PROTECTED WITH A RADIO_

_FREQUENCY IDENTIFICATION TAG._

_ANY ATTEMPT TO REMOVE IT FROM THE MISSION_

_PREPARATION BUILDING WILL SET OFF AN ALARM._

_DO NOT PHOTOCOPY OR MAKE NOTES._

_The UK Rail Network_

_There are more than 2500 railway stations in the UK, and on any day there are over 20,000 train journeys between them. Keeping all of these trains running on time without accidents is a difficult task and even minor disruption can lead to large delays further down the line. As such, rail companies are keen to keep their trains running no matter what._

_Birmingham New Street_

_Birmingham New Street station is the main station serving the city of Birmingham and many other passengers use it to make connections, especially between trains on the West Coast Main Line and London or the east coast. The layout of the station means that while the platforms are spacious, the concourses are often busy and it can be difficult to navigate at peak periods._

_Rail Security_

_All stations take basic security measures to prevent terrorists, thieves or even just vandals. There are no bins on station platforms to prevent bombs being placed in them, and the penalty for walking on the rails is severe. But with global terrorism on the rise, the chances of a UK-based terrorist making an attack on a busy train is a serious concern. Frequent security checks are made to test measures that are in place and to find where current security could be improved._

_CHERUB's role_

_The agent will board a train near campus and travel to London, where they will make a connection onto a train bound for Birmingham. Upon arrival at Birmingham New Street station, they must use their return ticket to London to board a train and place their backpack into the overhead luggage, before leaving the train and attempting to leave the station._

_It is expected that the station's security will detect the agent and detain them, upon which point the agent must produce paperwork which will allow their safe treatment and release. If security do not recognise the problem, the agent must wait in the main station entrance for extraction._

_This mission has been classified as LOW RISK. There is minimal chance of any problem arising for a trained agent, although they are reminded of their right to decline any mission. Contact with the public or local police forces is expected so the agent may need to hand themselves in for arrest to avoid suspicion._

"Excellent," George said enthusiastically.

"You should be back here by this evening," Denis said, sipping at a cup of coffee. "I take it you're up for it?"

"Definitely." It was only a routine security mission, but it was better than nothing and George knew that they led to better missions before long.

"Great. Someone will drive you over to the station in a couple of hours. Go and change into civilian clothes and pack a small bag with stuff to do on the train. You'll be given the other bag when you get there."

George had expected to be travelling by himself, but it turned out that he was going with a junior mission controller who was going to be rescuing him at the end. In George's experience, junior missions controllers were usually good fun, but this one just looked moody and didn't even tell him her name as they boarded the train bound for London. George guessed that being dragged out of bed on a Sunday morning to go on a security check was much less fun for her than it was for him.

The upside was that she bought him two Mars bars to keep him quiet, which he happily ate as they rode a quiet train to the capital. George passed the time playing games on his phone with the sound turned off in case he wound up his companion.

They had to change at London, which involved either a short walk or a trip on the tube. The mission controller looked like she could do with some fresh air and offered to walk, but George shook his head.

"Haven't been on the tube in ages, just wanna do it again," he explained. "I'll meet you in front of the departures board."

The last time George had been on the underground was when Michael was chasing after him, and the memory made him laugh slightly when he looked at the map. It was only six months ago, but it seemed like much longer.

One stop whizzed by quickly and George joined the crowds of adults heading for the escalators. While he loved his new life at CHERUB with his cool room and his friends, part of him missed living in London with his mum. A tear had formed in his eye by the time he passed through the ticket barriers, but it was gone before he got into the railway station.

When they finally reached Birmingham, the grumpy mission controller handed him the rucksack, which was at least quite light. She'd cheered up a bit now that her coffee had kicked in and she even gave him half a packet of polos as he hooked the target rucksack onto his back.

"Remember, you need to put it in the overhead rack," she said, unnecessarily.

"I know," George said, grabbing the bag and putting it on his back.

"I'll see you one way or another," she said, patting him on the shoulder gently before he got off and joined the stream of people heading for the exits.

The station's platforms were all at the same level, but to switch between them George had to climb up a flight of stairs and then work his way through a large corridor with shops on it. The departure board said the next train to London left in ten minutes, so George memorised the platform number and began looking for signs to it.

It was a Sunday and so the station wasn't as busy as it might otherwise have been. George was feeling confident as he found the stairs to his platform, but a glimpse of British Transport Police holding rifles gave him a jolt. Part of him suddenly wanted to hand himself in and get back to the safety of campus, but a lot was riding on his performance in this one. A good performance might lead to a longer mission off-campus, a bad one would just mean more security checks.

The train was sitting on the platform with all of the doors open. George picked one at random and jumped on. He realised his mistake as soon as he looked from side to side; it was a First Class carriage and there was no good reason for him to be there.

"Can I help you?" an overly-helpful member of staff asked as George backed away.

"Er, I was looking for my mum… I think this is the wrong carriage," he managed to say.

"Can you remember where she was sitting?"

"F 26, I think," George said, using the seat number he'd had on the way to Birmingham.

"That's only two carriages down the train. Just go straight, you can't miss it," the attendant said, pointing the way.

"Thanks," George said, heading past the buffet car as he searched for carriage F. It was fairly empty, but there were a few people sitting around, so George waited for the right moment before swinging the backpack into the overhead rack and sitting down for a few moments, pretending to settle in. When everyone had gone back to reading their newspapers or staring at the elderly couple who were having trouble getting into their seats, George let out a disappointed groan and jumped up, dashing down the carriage and squeezing past the elderly couple with an 'excuse me'.

It didn't take much from there to hop off the train close to the exit and stroll back to the stairs. The train was nearly leaving and so there was no-one on the stairs. George would have liked a big crowd to blend into, but the fates had aligned to make sure that there was hardly anyone around as he headed towards the station exit, glancing around to see if anyone was following him.

It wasn't until he was stepping into the fresh air that a bald man in a high-visibility jacket grabbed his shoulder.

"Wait there young man," he said, sweating with the exertion of catching up. "Shouldn't you be on your train?"

"Wrong train," George lied, trying to look lost. "I've been trying to find my mum but she wasn't on the train."

"What about your rucksack?"

George gasped. "I must have forgotten it! Oh, I'm gonna get into so much trouble if the train's left."

The man seemed kindly and he smiled. "Come on, let's go and have a look. If it's left I'll try contacting the next station to see if anyone can get it and put it into lost luggage for you."

George wanted to get away, but he figured that a few minutes lying to a random person wouldn't harm his chances of escape in the end. He hadn't counted on the transport policeman coming over to see what was going on, though.

"This little chap left his bag on the train. Lost his mum," the man said, shrugging.

The policeman was more suspicious than the man in the jacket, so he grabbed George by the arm. "You won't mind coming with me for a few moments, then."

George realised that his chances of lying to the police were pretty minimal, especially since he had no plausible story and his tickets would reveal that he'd tried to get on a train as soon as he'd got off the first one. There was a letter in his pocket that would mean the police would take him to the local station before handing him over to CHERUB, but the mission wouldn't have been very successful. George was desperate to do well, so instead of following the policeman he spun on the spot and kicked the back of the policeman's knee as hard as he could.

With the weight of his body armour and gun, the policeman toppled forwards, his head smacking into the bald man as George saw his opening and sprinted for the exit. There were shouts, but George focused on getting out.

Once he was outside, he pelted across the front of the station towards the main road. The mission controller wouldn't pick him up if he was being chased by the local police, so he had to find a way of losing them.


	24. 24: Run

**24: Run**

The road had a set of traffic lights at one end, so George took the opportunity while the traffic was slowing down to run across and head for a side street. He got a blast from an angry taxi driver, but he was gone before he could think too closely about it. George's training started to kick in as he turned another corner and found himself walking down the side of a three-lane road leading to a junction.

Firstly he pulled on a baseball cap from his bag to change his appearance, then he jogged towards a bus stop, checking that there was change in his pocket.

A bus pulled up as he arrived and he spent a nervous thirty seconds waiting for the other passengers to get on and pay. He had no idea where he was going, so he copied the person in front of him and got a paper ticket. He took a seat behind a couple of old ladies before looking anxiously out of the window. There was no sign of any police as the bus pulled away, and George began to plan his escape route a little more carefully.

Wherever he ended up getting off, he'd ring campus and let them know. Then he'd just lie low, maybe in a cafe or a shop, until they arrived to pick him up. The police wouldn't know where he'd gone and they'd be unlikely to set up roadblocks to search every bus.

The only problem was that as soon as they cleared the city centre and headed out into the suburbs, George spotted two marked police cars following. Neither of them had their sirens on, but they followed the bus's route exactly. George realised he'd been an idiot.

The police must have seen him get onto the bus and had worked out that he'd be easier to pick up when he got off the bus than to stop traffic and cause a scene. Even if he rode the bus all the way to the end of the line, he'd eventually have to get off into the waiting arms of a policeman for a trip to the station.

It didn't take a genius to work out that kicking a policeman didn't put you in their good books. George's only chance was to jump off at the next stop and surprise them, hopefully getting away before they could get out of the car and see where he'd gone. There was no map or anything on the bus, so George decided to bide his time and wait for a bus stop that was close to some houses or buildings that would make it easy to get away from the police if they tried to chase him on foot.

He made his move when an overweight couple got off the bus with a double pushchair. In the time that they were fussing with folding it up, carrying it down the step and then unfolding it, George slipped past and set off at a sprint into an alleyway between what appeared to be two industrial buildings. He thought that he might have given the police the slip entirely, but there was a brief blast of siren from one of the cars and when George looked over his shoulder, a burly policeman was sprinting after him.

No amount of specialist training on campus could make George faster than a grown man, so he cut into a side turning which led to a concrete ramp. He didn't want to go into the industrial building and get stuck, so he kept an eye out for a fire exit or something that he could get through. The ramp led to a garage filled with cardboard boxes, but as George blazed through without slowing down, a security guard appeared from nowhere and shouted something George didn't hear. There was an open doorway leading into a warehouse which George was heading for, but as he approached another security guard popped up and blocked the way, one of his arms trying to grab George around the chest. It was a clumsy move and George could have easily flipped the man over or felled him with a karate kick, but instead he just dodged and the man's fingers lost grip.

The move meant that George couldn't reach the door, so he cut sideways through a fire door before the security guard could recover for a second attempt. It let to a metal gantry which ran around the outside of the building, but as George grabbed the rail and set off towards a set of stairs, a squealing fire alarm went off. He knew from espionage training that fire doors were often alarmed, but he was desperate. The gantry was twenty feet off the ground and George realised his only escape was to jump. The police and security guards were heavier and probable wouldn't risk a broken leg to catch him. The only problem was, his jump would be hurried and he had every chance of turning his ankle or even breaking an arm when he hit the ground. Going up a short staircase to the next level added six feet to the jump, but it led to the other side of the building.

As George rounded the corner, he spotted the perfect escape route. The back of the warehouse led onto a minor road, and instead of a fence there was a tall brick wall. George couldn't see what was directly on the other side of the wall, but it was only a ten-foot drop and he could make it easily. The tricky part was landing on the top of the wall, which was only a single brick wide, but if George could pull it off there was no chance of any adults following him. The gantry ran parallel to the wall and the jump was no worse than countless ones he'd done on the assault course, but he'd never had three man chasing him while trying to judge the distance. He climbed over the metal rail and put his feet on the small shelf of flooring beneath him, holding tight to the rail to stop him overbalancing forwards. When the policeman rounded the corner and shouted, George pushed forwards, arms outstretched for balance, trying to remember the safe techniques for falling he'd been taught in the dojo.

The policeman reached the railing a fraction of a second after George's t-shirt flapped out of range. He could only watch as the boy sailed forwards towards the fence, but from the higher vantage point, it was obvious that the distance was too great and that he was going to miss.

George realised the same thing but too late. The forward momentum from his jump meant that he was going to collide painfully with the wall unless he could pull his legs up. He got his trailing leg up quickly, but the shin of his leading leg smashed into the top edge of the wall with a force that sent a jarring pain up George's entire leg.

If his legs had been clear he would have cleared the wall entirely and landed heavily on the other side, and if he'd kicked off the wall with both feet, he might have had a chance of grabbing the top of the wall as he fell and hauling himself over. Unfortunately, the awkward collision sent his torso spinning over, and he grabbed pointlessly at the wall as his head tilted forwards and he did a spectacular flip over the wall.

George was expecting a ten-foot drop to the ground so he put his arms out to protect his head and went into the soft landing position he'd been taught, but instead an intense smell hit him and he cascaded into a giant skip full of bin bags.

The reek was incredible and he gagged as the bags settled. There was some kind of gunk oozing across his chest and soaking into his t-shirt, and the way he'd hit the skip meant his head was near the bottom and his legs were dangling in the air. He tried to take a breath but the smell filled his nose and he retched, the vomit dribbling across his face and into his head. The bags were too soft to get purchase on and even though he scrabbled around, disgusted, he only sank deeper.

It seemed like an eternity of enduring the horrific smell, but eventually he felt a hand grip each of his ankles and haul him out, sending jarring pains through his shin as he was dragged over the edge of the skip and onto the ground.

It was the policeman who had pulled him out and both security guards were standing next to him. They recoiled from the smell and the policeman put his handkerchief over his nose and mouth before talking, his hand gripping George's arm.

"Are you gonna come quietly now?" he asked, his expression a mixture of disgust and pity.

George nodded miserably, looking down at the brown liquid that had soaked his entire t-shirt.

The policeman pulled out his radio and asked his partner to call for a van while the security guard shook their heads.

"He's only a scrap of a kid," one of them said, keeping his distance.

"Dunno what the hell you think you're playing at, but I think you got your just punishment, eh?" the other said, grinning.

George would gladly have punched him, but he felt too much of an idiot to do anything more than stare at his trainers and look forward to whenever he would be allowed a shower.

"Van's on its way," the policeman said, looking at George. He produced a pair of metal handcuffs from his belt and held them out for George's wrists. As soon as he let go of George's arm, George's weight shifted onto his damaged leg and he let out a low moan of pain.

"We'll get that leg looked at when you get to the station," the policeman said, adopting a more friendly tone as he snapped the cuffs onto George's wrists a loosely as he could get away with. "It took one hell of a whack on that wall, I'm surprised you can stand."

George smiled weakly once the security guards had gone back to their jobs. "There's a letter for the police in my bag, if it's not been ruined."

The policeman got George to turn out his pockets before searching through his bag, and George was relieved to see that his phone hadn't fallen out of his trousers and had somehow avoided the foul liquid. There were five missed calls from the junior mission controller showing on the screen as the policeman tore open the envelope the letter was in.


	25. 25: Debriefing

**25: Debriefing**

"So," Zara started, looking at George and drumming her fingers on the desk, "You're back in here."

George was sat in the same chair he'd sat the previous day, his most sorry expression on his face. His clothes had been summarily thrown away when the staff at the hospital got a whiff of them, so he had been allowed to change out of hospital-issue clothes and into a fresh uniform before being called into the chairwoman's office.

"I've read the mission report," she continued, pointing to a manila folder. "Please tell me how a routine security check turned into assaulting a police officer, setting off a fire alarm with an automatic response from the fire brigade and, best of all, four stitches in your right leg."

George shrugged. "I tried to get away from the police like it said in the briefing."

"If you'd read the briefing properly, you'd see that there's nothing there about escaping from custody. Once the police got hold of you, you were expected to turn yourself in. That would have been a lot more painless," Zara said, pointing to the strapping on his leg. "Thankfully I think everyone involved just thought you were a bit of a tearaway and probably won't think too hard about it."

"Do I get punished?" George asked. Normally he wouldn't have been so straightforward and would probably have sweated in the chair until Zara made up her mind, but he'd been up early that morning and after three hours in hospital followed by a boring car journey all the way back to campus, he wanted to do nothing except grab something to eat and then fall asleep in his room.

"Yes, you get punished," Zara replied sharply. "I thought that a lecture about responsibility would have done the trick, but you literally ignored everything I said and went on to set a historic low point in the long history of CHERUB security checks."

"For a start, I don't think it likely that you'll be considered for another mission until the autumn. You can spend the time on campus undertaking extra espionage training until you can remember that this is a secret organisation and not a get out of jail free card for when you don't fancy sitting in a police car."

"You'll be allowed to go to the summer hostel as normal so long as you can behave yourself on campus, but from now until then you'll help out every evening at the Junior Block. Two of our carers are going on maternity leave and perhaps looking after some of our youngest will teach you the responsibility you so sorely need."

"Finally, I've scheduled you extra fitness training sessions every Sunday from now on." Zara grinned. "Maybe afterwards you'll actually be able to outrun people chasing you."

"How am I supposed to get away from adults?" George complained, not looking forwards to losing his evenings and Sundays.

"Maybe next time you should think before running, then," Zara said, pointing towards the door.

George got up slowly to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. There was no major damage apart from the cut, so he could hobble around without crutches.

"One last thing," Zara said, unable to keep a note of laughter out of her voice.

George stopped and turned to look at her.

"What exactly was in that bin you fell into?"

"It was a cat food factory," George said, shaking his head. "It was my bloody bad luck that they leave some of the particularly disgusting by-products in those skips to rot before it's taken away. I spent half an hour in the shower at the hospital scrubbing and I still reeked of it."

Zara didn't actually laugh but she seemed pretty close to it.

The punishment was really harsh, George thought as he made his way towards the dining hall. He'd hurt himself and fallen in the world's most disgusting bin, but Zara still had to pile it on. No evenings or Sundays until the summer hostel meant he'd have to work twice as hard to get all of his homework in on time and not fall behind and get more punishments.

As he walked, he realised that the punishment wasn't even the worst thing. His disciplinary record on campus was terrible and now his career as an agent was off to the worst possible start, so there was no chance of him getting any good missions. It seemed like a mediocre career was already all planned out for him, which made him feel like even more of an idiot. He had no idea how he'd gone from a promising agent just out of training to this. The only way to redeem himself was to get a big break on a mission, but without any missions looking likely, it would never happen.

Once he'd piled lasagne onto his plate and grabbed some blackcurrant squash, George realised he was wrong entirely. His career as a Cherub was far from the worst thing.

He took a seat at his usual table, sitting between Rex and Letty, and both of them were wearing all-too-innocent expressions. George wanted to kick himself for not thinking about the fact that if he made a complete tit of himself on a mission, everyone would hear about it and there was sure to be plenty of jokes.

"What is it?" he asked irritably, sticking a fork into his pasta and waiting for some kind of witty response they'd been preparing since they heard about it.

"Nothing," Rex said, shrugging.

Letty said nothing either, so George just got a big forkful of his lasagne and blew on it to cool it before moving it towards his mouth. The cafeteria seemed to go a little quiet as Letty grabbed his arm.

"You don't want to eat that," she said, unable to keep a grin from forming.

"I thought this was more your style," Rex said, pushing away George's tray and replacing it with a tin of Whiskas.

The surrounding tables erupted with laughter and George spotted some older kids joining in. His face burned red and being reminded of the terrible smell put him right off his food, but he knew that if he got upset he'd just lose their respect, so took a deep breath and let it all wash over him.

"Too right, mate," he laughed, grabbing the ring-pull and opening up the tin. "Chicken in jelly, my favourite." He grabbed his fork and pulled out a chunk from the tin, putting it into his mouth before he could think too hard about it.

Kids all around him made disgusted faces or 'eww' noises, which made George smile.

"Doesn't that taste awful?" Rex asked, shaking his head and laughing.

The taste actually hit George and he gobbed the cat food out onto his tray. "Oh yeah, that's really vile," he said, downing his glass of squash to get the taste out of his mouth as everyone had another laugh at his expense.

He explained his punishment to everyone at the table as he ate his actual meal, gaining sympathy.

"The hostel will probably only be two months away," Jemima said, shrugging. "It's not so bad."

"I suppose," George shrugged. "I'm just gonna be knackered trying to keep my head above water."

"Did Letty tell you her news?" Rex asked, instantly getting a glare from Letty.

"I was gonna tell him later when I was sure he wasn't too upset about the kibble thing," she replied.

"Might as well tell me now, I'm over it," George shrugged. "After this I'm gonna go to bed and forget all about it."

Letty reached into the pocket of her combat trousers and pulled out a yellow mission preparation building access card. "I heard from my handler today that I've got a mission, and it's a long one."

"How long?" George asked, his mouth full of hot pasta.

"The briefing says a month at least, could be longer," Letty said. "Hopefully it'll be done in time for me to go to the hostel with all of you guys."

"Sounds pretty good," George smiled, feeling jealous of her getting a decent mission so soon. "Hopefully it'll go well. Is anyone else going?"

"Two older agents who I met for the first time today. I'm quite nervous actually," Letty confessed. "They're quite experienced so I just hope I don't mess up."

"You'll be fine. Just steer clear of cat food factories."

Letty smiled as she got up. "I've got history work."

"Leave it for me to copy?"

"No chance, you can just do it yourself."

On the way back to his room, George stopped off to knock on Michael's door on the off-chance that he hadn't flown out yet. There was no reply, so he just carried on back to his room. He'd actually only been gone less than fifteen hours, but it felt like a week had passed since he'd last been in his room. He locked the door behind him and, after kicking off his boots, did a full-body dive onto his double bed, ready to just roll over and fall asleep.

"Jesus!" he screamed in pain as he landed on the duvet. After he scrambled to his feet and tore the duvet off he discovered a dozen cans of cat food neatly lying on his sheet.

The door burst open and Rex and Harry looked in, almost in tears of laughter.

"You absolute-" George started, apoplectic. His chest and arms were bruised in about ten different places. "I'm gonna kill you."

He steamed towards the door grabbing a boot, but the two boys scarpered down the corridor. He chased after them, conscious of the fact that he was in his socks, as they headed towards the stairs.

"Get back here or I'm gonna rip each of you into little pieces," he roared, past reasoning as he tried to break into a sprint but found himself instead hobbling along on his one good leg as his so-called friends laughed themselves silly. He launched the boot at Rex, but he dodged easily and the boot ended up bouncing off the wall, leaving a muddy mark.

"Ah, George Knight! Glad you're back," Rose said, her head appearing out of her office door in response to the noise. "If you'd be so kind as to stop shouting get into my office immediately for your punishment, that'd be grand. Oh, and bring the boot."

Rex and Harry had made themselves scarce when Rose had appeared, so George didn't even have anyone to blame. He just stomped down the corridor, grabbed his boot, pounded the carpet in an uncontrollable rage, then stomped back to Rose's office, once again wondering how on earth he got himself into these situations.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

MICHAEL JAARSVELD flew out to New Zealand to undertake a recruitment mission in Wellington, but was diverted en route in response to an emergency on another mission in South-East Asia. He is expected to return to campus sometime in the autumn.

EDWARD NOBLE (Ed) re-entered basic training, paired with RALPH POWELL. They are both expected to pass.

JEMIMA SUZUKI and REX REYNOLDS completed their mission suspension periods and are now eligible for selection. Rex continues to take extra martial arts training.

LETTICIA KATZ (Letty) left for her first extended mission with good expectations of success.

GEORGE KNIGHT was given twenty punishment laps for throwing his boot at Rex. He is looking forward to his punishments ending and the possibility of a mission coming up.

The policeman that George kicked was concussed from headbutting the station employee, but recovered fully and returned to work the following week.

**GEORGE KNIGHT WILL RETURN**

**IN**

**CHERUB: THE MECHANIC**

Read on for an exclusive preview of the first chapter of CHERUB: The Mechanic.


	27. CHERUB: The Mechanic Preview Chapter

**1: C_**

The metal frame of the bed shook with the impact of George crashing painfully into it. He rolled to his right and avoided a punch that would otherwise have impacted with his nose. The momentum of the roll meant he could get back to his feet, and he used his momentary advantage to run for the door. Before he could get it open, his opponent slammed it shut and pushed George away. George dropped back into a fighting stance, dodging a kick before landing a block and managing to press forwards, his kick connecting and his opponent slamming into the door before sliding down it into a sitting position. The battle won, George launched an all-out kick into the head area, but pulled back a few inches short.

"Hit my head on the door," Rex complained, accepting George's hand up. "You could've not pushed me back so hard."

"Sorry," George replied insincerely. Rex was a sore loser and bitter experience had told George that the only way he would ever be friends with you was if you just swallowed your pride every once in a while. In this case, though, George was happy to apologise because, for the first time since they'd arrive on the Mediterranean island of C_, he'd actually managed to beat Rex in a tussle.

The two boys were sharing a room and once the lights were out they often ended up in an impromptu wrestling bout, but they sometimes turned violent and George was pleased to have won this one. Usually he ended up pinned to his bed with Rex laying into his arm or leg to get him to submit, and all of the karate training that Rex had been doing during his suspension from missions for destroying a girl's room was paying off.

"I'm going to bed," Rex grumbled, finding his lost t-shirt somewhere on the floor and pulling it on before climbing into his bed, sounding put-out.

George didn't reply, but once he got back into bed he noticed that his pillows were missing.

"Where did my pillows end up?" he asked, looking under the blanket without any luck.

"Don't know, don't care," Rex replied, but the tone of his voice suggested he knew full well.

"Give them back," George demanded, jumping to his feet. "I can't sleep without them."

"How is that my problem? They're probably on the floor somewhere, or in the toilet," Rex said, holding back a laugh.

George didn't want to think about the possibility of his pillows getting dipped in toilet water, so he tore Rex's pillows away from his head and ran back to his bed.

"Hey, get your own!" Rex said, getting out of bed and aiming a kick at George. It caught the back of his heel and George toppled onto the bed, getting a second encounter with the painful bed frame.

"You can have mine," George replied, fending Rex off with a rugby tackle. Both boys tumbled onto the floor and rolled over, each trying to get the upper hand. George had just got his arm wrapped around Rex's back and was pinning him awkwardly in the gap between the end of his bed and the wall when the door flew open and the light flicked on.

"Alright you two, enough is enough," the voice of Maira, a white-shirt who was an agent until recently and was helping out at the hostel before she went to university in October. "I've listened to you banging around on the floor and the walls for the past hour, if you two aren't in bed in ten seconds you'll be sorry."

White-shirts could give out punishments, so George and Rex did as she said, grabbing their scattered bedding and scuttling back to their respective beds. George still had Rex's pillows and he settled down with a grin.

"Miss, I've lost my pillows," Rex replied, looking sheepish.

"Where did you last see them?" Maira replied, sounding exasperated.

"I dunno, they might be under the bed."

"Well find them and put the light out when you do. If I hear another sound I will be back in here dishing out punishments."

The pillows weren't under the bed and Rex genuinely didn't seem to know where they were, so George offered to help look.

"You could help by looking for your own stupid pillows instead of making me do it," Rex said bitterly.

George retaliated by flinging one of his pillows at his friend, hitting him in the back of the head. "There you go, make do with one."

"Don't chuck it at me, then."

"I'm giving you one of my pillows, be grateful."

Rex gave George a giant slap on the back. George was under the sheet, but Rex's palm moved fast enough to sting and leave a red mark.

"What was that for?" George said, springing up again.

"For being a lazy sod," Rex shrugged.

George gave him a shove and he tripped backwards onto his bed. "I'm not the one who nicked the pillows in the first place."

"Yes you are, you took mine," Rex replied, kicking away George's ankle so he fell heavily onto the floor.

The kick hurt, so George tackled Rex again, twisting violently so that Rex would collapse on top of him. Unfortunately this gave Rex the upper hand, and George found his arm being twisted around painfully. He kicked out blindly and managed to catch Rex somehow, giving him the space to wriggle free. He grabbed hold of Rex's ankle and twisted, but not hard enough to cause anything more than discomfort.

The door flew open again.

"Right you two, get out here," Maira shouted, grabbing George's collar. Her nails tore straight through the worn material and she ended up dragging him by the elastic while he grabbed at his throat and flailed around. Maira was an ex-Cherub so she had the strength to pick up both ten-year-olds with ease, but she started by making George stand by the wall while she dragged Rex out by his arm.

"Stand opposite him," she said viciously. A few people were looking into the corridor from the other rooms, wondering what the commotion was, while George massaged his throat and tried to regain his breath and his dignity. The wrecked shirt was doing nothing for him, and he was covered in red marks from where Rex had been grabbing him.

Maira stood between them, hands on hips, giving them both the evil eye.

"You're gonna stand out here the rest of the night, and in the morning you're gonna go and tell the staff exactly why I had to drag you out of your room at one in the morning, right?" she growled, daring them to chat back.

"Yes Miss," George replied meekly.

"Good, now woe betide you if you make even another squeak," Maira finished, pounding a fist into her palm before storming back into her room.

The interest of the other Cherubs died down once Maira left, leaving George and Rex alone in the corridor. George's discipline record on campus was horrendous; he'd been involved in a number of incidents in his four months as a qualified agent, including a alcohol-selling scheme and a botched mission that ended his his head in a bin. He knew that this was a minor incident and that he'd probably get off with nothing worse than a telling-off and a few hours of punishment duty, but all the little things added up.

Nonetheless, he could see the funny side as he sat on the cold floor, looking at Rex who was sweaty with exertion and wondering whether CHERUB was going to reimburse him for his ruined t-shirt.

_Croydon, South London_

"Keep an eye out," the older boy said, giving Adam a smart smack on the ear. "I'm not risking my neck under here if you're staring into space."

Adam was annoyed that the older boys were treating him badly, but he said nothing. He stood by the bonnet of a flash-looking Mercedes, finished in black, and looked into the darkness. The street was well-lit by streetlight, but Adam kept his gaze on the driveways and front doors of the people living on the street.

The older boy, whose name was Tom, disappeared under the car and began pulling a few tools out of his jacket. A small but powerful torch illuminated the filthy underside of the Mercedes as he grabbed a spanner and began expertly loosening nuts.

"Hurry up," Adam hissed. It was warm enough for him to only be wearing a light jacket, but he still shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"Shut up then," Tom replied, tutting.

Adam was mainly on the lookout for residents who would come out and bother them, but the street was dead silent at four in the morning and there weren't even any lights on in the windows.

"Alright, got it," Tom replied, sounding relieved. He appeared from under the car and tucked a lump of metal into his jacket. "Have you got the replacement?"

"Here," Adam said, reaching into a carrier bag and replacing a part which looked identical to the one Tom had removed, down to the coating of grime. Tom nodded and crawled back under the car.

Once Tom was back to grunting underneath the car, Adam spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He thought it was a person and his heart shot into his mouth, but a cat wandered lazily across the road a few moments later and he relaxed.

"What's taking the time?" Adam asked, starting to get anxious.

"The mother is too bloody small," Tom replied, his voice on edge. "I can't get the nuts on properly."

"Damien gave it to me, I swear," Adam replied, subconsciously rubbing his tongue through the gap that his missing canine had left when it had fallen out the previous weekend.

"We're gonna have to swap the old one back on and explain this to Damien," Tom said, appearing from under the car. "There's gonna be hell to pay."

Adam held out the original part, but Tom's expression changed rapidly from irritation to fear. Before he could get the part he turned on his heel and set off at a sprint into the front garden of the nearest house. Adam spun around and spotted two uniformed police officers running up the road towards him, torches in hand.

"Stop!" one of them shouted, but Adam panicked. Tom had disappeared, so he dropped the metal part he was holding and ran in the opposite direction. He turned the corner into the next street, which seemed identical, but he didn't have the guts to climb into someone's garden or jump over a wall. There was a horrible clash of his desire to get away and his desire to behave himself like his teachers told him at school, but before he could decide an arm grabbed his collar.

"You're coming with us," the policeman said, shining his torch in Adam's face. "How old are you?"

"Eight," Adam said truthfully. When Damien had let him go with Tom, he'd said that if the police caught him he should tell the truth about his age and everything would be fine.

"Eight? God's sake, why aren't you in bed," the policeman said, shaking his head. "Come on, let's take you home and have a word with your mum."

Adam had never been so scared before in his life. When the older boys had talked about getting picked up by the police, it sounded really cool and they wore it like a badge of honour, but now that it was happening to him he couldn't keep the tears in. His mum was going to kill him.


End file.
